Unconditionally
by Someone the World Forgot
Summary: When his fiancée is put into a coma after being severely wounded while fighting, Percy struggles to move on with his life without her, recounting every memory that had happened between them, from the moment they met through a school program to the moment he saw her face to face … even if the memories hurt more than the reality. (AU/AH) *ALL RIGHTS TO RICK RIORDAN*
1. Prologue

•Prologue•

 **Hello!**

 **Thanks for clicking on this story!**

 **This story will not mention any of the Greek gods, and all the characters are all human. This is just the prologue; in the following chapters, it will have two time skips: the first part of each chapter will follow Percy and how he met Annabeth, and the second part of each chapter will follow present-day Percy and Annabeth's condition.**

 **Happy reading!**

 **EDIT (April 12, 2017): I have changed the viewpoint of the Prologue to match the viewpoint of the Epilogue. I have also changed some minor elements in this chapter. These changes do not affect the rest of the story in any way. The author's notes have been left untouched.**

* * *

It feels as if he is watching the scene in front of him unfold in slow motion. He knows what will happen next; he _knows_.

But he doesn't do anything.

Rather, he _can't_.

His feet are stuck to the ground in fear. As much as he wants to move them, he can't.

All he can do is helplessly look on while he watches his blonde-haired fiancée get knifed in the chest. He can't get to her.

As he watches her fall to the ground, blood pooling on her chest, his feet finally decide to move. In a fluid motion, he vaults over the stone wall which previously concealed him, still holding onto the rifle in case the enemy tries to sneak up on him. _Faster, faster_ , he urges his feet to go.

They're not fast enough.

"Annabeth!" he screams, running to her. He gently pulls her into his arms, and observes the knife sticking out of her chest. It's not good—that much he can already tell. Annabeth, he sees, hasn't gone into shock. She is aware of the knife in her chest, however, and stays as still as she can.

For a person who had a blade of metal embedded in her chest, she seems awfully calm.

He knows he can't pull it out; it will cause more damage as the blood will start flowing out and it might disturb other organs nearby. It breaks his heart to leave the blade in his fiancée's chest, but he knows that may be the only way to save her. "Annabeth! Oh my gods, I … I …" He's at a loss for words. He doesn't know what to say to her. What _does_ one even say to their recently-shot-in-the-chest fiancée? ' _Oh, hey, yeah you got shot, but whatever, let's kiss and everything will be alright'_? "Let's get to the infirmary," he finally tells her, firmly.

For once, she doesn't argue with him. He almost wishes she does, so he can pretend that this isn't happening. She merely nods and lets him hoist her into his arms, and stays there, like a limp rag doll. He tries his best not to jostle her as he makes his way to the infirmary. The infirmary that's too far away.

He knows that time is critical.

She's losing blood too quickly; the wound is deep.

He knows that he must have her stay awake, so she doesn't go into a coma. "Annabeth, Annabeth," he breathes. "Talk to me. Tell me about your family. Tell me one of my embarrassing moments. Tell me _anything_."

"Once you thought this lady was your aunt," she whispers. "You yelled, 'Aunt Persephone!' and proceeded to hug her. It wasn't her, however, and that prompted some awkward exchanges of, 'Uh, why are you hugging me?' and 'Sorry, thought you were my aunt.' Thankfully, she had a good sense of humour, so she didn't mind too much. In fact, I think she found it hilarious."

"Another one?" he presses. _Don't go into a coma, please_ … Any of his loved ones going into a coma is his worst and deepest fear … and it might come true.

"Once, you peed your pants in third grade in front of the entire assembly. Your class had to recite 'In Flanders Fields' for Veterans Day and it was your turn to do your lines. You got too nervous, and …"

"And?" The soldier sneaks another glance at her wound. Thankfully, the knife didn't puncture a lung, but it sure was close.

"And …" his fiancée trails off. With much difficulty, she looks up and locks eyes with him.

Suddenly, he knows what's going to happen. His heart sinks. "Annabeth …" he murmurs, looking down at her. "Please, stay with me. Please! Tell me the story about how your stuffed duck got destroyed in the washer, and you cried for days!" Annabeth lets out a small moan, and her eyes roll to the back of her head.

He quickly ducks as a bullet whizzes past his head. Once he is sure that there are no more following its path, he straightens up, looks around, and resumes running. The infirmary can't be far by now.

"Annabeth!" he cries, his voice rising. "Annabeth!" he repeats, panic in his voice. "Stay with me! Please!"

Her eyelids slide shut.

* * *

 _How cruel is the universe?_ he asks himself. _How cruel is it that it makes my worst fear come to pass?_

There's so much white here that it is driving him crazy. It smells so much of cleanliness, that after all his time outside, laying on the ground or staying in dark, slimy places, it gives him a headache.

He sits on the stone-cold benches in the little room outside the infirmary, with his head in his hands. News of Annabeth's condition will soon reach him, he knows, after her parents and brothers are notified.

Finally, after an eternity, a doctor wearing a white lab coat with a stethoscope hanging around his neck steps out of Annabeth's curtained room. The black-haired young man springs to his feet, arriving at the doctor's feet in two leaps. "Doctor," he says breathlessly, "how is she? How badly is the wound? Is she—is she going to live?"

The doctor, whose name tag reads _Doctor Solace_ , looks at the young man with a quizzical expression. "In what relation are you to Miss Chase? Her brother?"

He shakes his head. "Apologies, sir," he tells him. "I temporarily forgot that her family needs to receive the news before I can be notified of her condition."

He looks at the clipboard in his hand, then back at the soldier standing in front of him. "We have not been able to reach her family," he says at last. "In what relation are you to her?" he asks me again.

"I'm—I'm her fiancé," he chokes out.

"Well, congratulations on your engagement," Doctor Solace says sombrely after a pause. "I'm sorry about this. Since you are her fiancé and the closest to a family member at the moment, I'll give you her diagnosis. It's not good, I'm afraid. She is bleeding quite profusely from her wound, even though we've tried to stop the blood flow, blood is still seeping quite a bit from her injury. My team and I have put her in a medically-induced coma so she can heal … medication can't help her that much now. We've given her a blood transfusion, to try to help her regain some of the blood she lost. Her body is the only thing who will decide her fate: life or death. Right now, it is a critical time; we'll see if her body is responding well. We'll notify you and try to reach her family again in the morning."

He leaves the infirmary, numb.

 _She's going to survive_ , he tells himself. _She's a fighter._

But before he reaches the door which will lead him back outside, back to all the fighting, someone taps him on the arm. The young man whirls around. "Sir," Doctor Solace says quietly, "would you like to see her?"

He swallows. "Yes."

* * *

"Here," Doctor Solace tells him. "She's in here. I'll leave you two alone."

He thanks him and parts the curtains. Annabeth is lying on the bed, her blonde hair spread all around her. Her fiancé approaches her, and pulling a chair to the side of her bed, sits down on it. Reaching out, he takes her hand. "Um, hi, Annabeth," he says quietly. "I know you probably can't hear me right now, but … if you can, listen, okay?"

Annabeth doesn't react.

He's not surprised; he never expected her to.

"Even though we went through such trials, to just get to where we now are, I don't regret it. Not a single second of it. Not from the first word I wrote to you, years ago, not when I first realized that you were the one that I fell in love with, despite never meeting you until then. I don't regret joining the army, even though I wanted to get married before we did. I don't regret joining the army so soon, because we both knew how important it was for the both of us.

"I don't regret anything," he tells his fiancée. "Our relationship, though it had many difficulties, is beautiful in its own way, because it is _ours_ , and _we_ created it. It is _our_ story, and … and …" he stops and drops his head between his knees. "It's not done yet," he whispers. "It's not done yet. It has dozens and dozens of chapters yet to be filled. There're still years and years of memories and joy for us to experience. This story is nowhere close to ending. Please, Annabeth. Don't give up fighting. You're strong; I know you can do this."

He sighs, raising his head and looks around the room and its machinery. Closing his eyes, he leans forward and kisses her forehead. "Goodnight, my dear," he says quietly to her, and leaves the room, closing the curtains quietly behind him. As he walks out of the infirmary, there is only one thing that's going through his mind: _Wise Girl, please be okay_.

* * *

 **I would just like to say that this story requires extensive research as this story deals with war, hospitals, and all that stuff, so I will try to update every week or every other week, depending on my homework.**

 **Constructive criticism is appreciated :)**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-K**


	2. One

•Chapter 1•

 **Hi, all you fabulous people!**

 **I would just like to say that this story will not dive too deep into the medical or warfare world, so don't worry.**

 **And thank you SO much for the 5 favourites, 7 follows, and 3 reviews! I really appreciate it! :)**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2010

* * *

It all started when our twelfth grade English teacher decided that we, as teenagers, were "too closed-off, too involved with texting and instant messaging, and were forgetting how to write good, old-fashioned letters"—Mrs. Leer's words, not mine. Therefore, she decided that we were going to have a penpal and were required to write a letter, _handwritten_ , to him or her once a week. We were to hand in our letters to Mrs. Leer every Monday, and then she would drive to the mailbox and deliver a bundle of letters to the corresponding school.

At this point, I already dreaded this assignment. Writing and reading _anything_ was my enemy. Did she somehow forget that I was dyslexic? Even if I had a proofreader, it was still stressful.

Mrs. Leer and her friend, the English teacher over at Goode High randomly paired off their students one Sunday afternoon over Skype or FaceTime. Who knew teachers knew how to operate electronics?

Then, the next day, we learned who our penpals for the next three months were.

Mrs. Leer and her friend had paired me up with an Annabeth Chase.

My first reaction was disappointment. I was hoping that I'd get a guy, and hopefully bond with him over sports, video games and whatnot.

Oh, and did I mention that Mrs. Leer instructed that we were to try to befriend—or at least _connect_ —with our penpals? And send pictures of ourselves to them later on?

But oh, no. I. Got. A. Girl. (Assuming that no parent would give their son a girly name … that'd be weird.)

My second reaction was nervousness. Although I know that I'm a pretty attractive guy, I hoped that she wouldn't try flirting with me … or hit on me. That'd be creepy … not to mention weird. I mean, hitting on someone using _snail mail_ … that's ancient. Like, really ancient.

"Alright, class!" Mrs. Leer said, beaming, clapping her hands together. "Let's starting writing those letters!" If I didn't know who she was, I'd honestly think that she was from some old classic movie from the 50's or something.

"Woo," I muttered sarcastically, begrudgingly getting out a sheet of paper. "This is gonna be _fun_."

* * *

 _Dear Annabeth,_

 _Hi, I guess? I'm your new penpal. Frankly, I think that this project sucks. I mean, couldn't she at least let us email each other? No one uses snail mail anymore! Besides Mrs. Leer and your teacher, NO ONE DOES! Honestly, I feel sorry for them … they're missing out on so many awesome things about technology and a_ beautiful _thing called … wait for it …_ THE INTERNET. _Haha just kidding … sort of._

 _Besides, I think she might have forgotten that I have dyslexia. In case you're some person who has no idea what that is, it's basically this problem where your eyes mess up the words you see … so that's why I need my buddy Frank to proofread it for me. I mean, if I tried to write "soup", I'd end up writing "soap". That's why I need Frank to read it over. (Yes, I asked Frank about it the soup-soap thing.)_

 _Okay, so I'll introduce myself. Hi, I'm Percy Jackson. I'm 17 years old. I have a little brother who's called Tyson. He's a giant, but he's a really big softie. I'm not even kidding about the "giant" part. I'm pretty tall already, but Tyson's a head taller than me._

 _Anyways, Mrs. Leer says that it's time to hand in our letters. My hand is cramping up from writing so much. I honestly think that someone should introduce her to a computer._

 _Your (reluctant) penpal,_

 _Percy Jackson_

* * *

"So, who did you get?" Frank asked Jason, Leo, and I after English class ended.

Confused, I replied with a "Huh?"

Frank sighed, exasperated. "Percy. The _penpals_."

 _Oh_. "Um, I got a girl. Annabeth Chase."

A chorus of "Ooohs" and "This chick better be hot" followed suit. Well, Leo said the last one.

"Leo!" I exclaimed, smacking his head.

"What?" he asked me innocently, looking up at me. "I figured that if is she is, she will be the one who will _finally_ be able to handle my hotness." He ended the sentence with a hand on his head and the other on his hip. After a moment, he scrunched up his face.

"Uhh … what's that expression 'sposed to be?" Jason asked the short Latino.

Now it was Leo's turn to roll his eyes. "What do you think?"

"It looks like an 'I just got kicked in the balls but I'm trying not to show any pain' expression … seriously."

The three of us turned our heads towards the new voice. A redhead was making her way towards us, her arms filled with a books, a laptop and a pencil case. I greeted her. "Hey, Rachel."

She returned the greeting, and turning to Leo, cocked an eyebrow. "If that's your best attempt at making an attractive face, I'm wishing you luck for your future relationships. I don't think _any_ girl will find that attractive."

Jason, Frank, and I nodded in agreement.

"Oh, how you wound me," Leo said dramatically, clasping a hand over his heart. "I—"

" _Anyway_ ," Jason said, interrupting Leo, "how about we go back to our original topic?" Slinging his arms over Frank and me, he steered us away from the "wounded" Leo and the exasperated Rachel Elizabeth Dare, and marched us down to our lockers.

After a while, Jason asked us, "So, do you think that your penpals will like you? As a person, I mean."

"Probably," Frank replied. "I mean, I'm pretty an average guy. I'm not _really_ crazy or _really_ boring."

"Except for the fact that you're obsessed with getting stuck in Chinese Finger Traps," I reminded him, snickering, with Jason following suit. Frank glared at Jason and I, and then told us to shut up.

"Well, how about you?" Frank challenged me. "You're definitely weirder than me, and your obsession with blue food is insane. What if she has something against blue?"

I stopped laughing and waved it off. "She's probably not going to find out about that anyways, and dude, of course she won't hate me! I'm unhateable. Besides, who can't _not_ like me? I mean look at these!" I flexed my arms, and, looking up, saw a girl—maybe sophomore or junior—watching me. I rose an eyebrow, causing the auburn-haired girl to quickly turn away in embarrassment.

"Yeah," Jason said beside me, dragging the word out. "Totally macho."

* * *

2015

* * *

When I get back to the base, the truth finally hits me. Annabeth is in a coma.

My fiancée is in a freaking coma. I trudge back into the bunkers, and plop on my bed. Resting my hand on chin, I look up to the ceiling and hoping that someone is listening, shoot up a quick prayer for Annabeth's recovery. Even though I'm not religious, I'm desperate for all the help I can get.

"Hey," a voice says softly by my elbow. I turn around in surprise, and see Private M. Chase sitting beside me.

"Um, hi," I return, uncertain. He's in my battalion, and I'm his superior, but when it's just Percy and Magnus talking, off-shift, we're equals.

"Listen, I know that we don't know each other that well, since well, ya know, you're my superior. But Annabeth's my cousin, and I'll tell you this: If there's anyone who can survive going to hell and back and almost die in the process but still pull through in the end, it's her. She's stronger and more of a fighter than most people give her credit for, and she's going to beat whatever odds are thrown at her."

I raise my eyebrows. "Um … thanks, but I already know that."

"Really?" he returns, skeptical. "It sure looked like you needed a reminder."

I sigh a little. "Yeah, you're right," I admit. "Thanks, man."

A corner of his mouth quirks up. "Anytime, dude."

Suddenly, on impulse, I pull him towards a bro hug. Magnus seems a little surprised at first, but relaxes and hugs me back. My cell phone suddenly rings, and we break apart. It's Annabeth's stepmother.

I answer the phone, and hear her sobbing on the other end. In the corner of my eye, I see Magnus leave the room and quietly shut the door behind him.

"Percy … we just received the news a minute ago. What happened to her? The doctor won't tell us."

Gently, I tell her what I saw, which leads her to another round of hysterics.

"Sometimes, that girl can be so heroic, it's like she always wants to challenge death head-on," her stepmother sniffles.

I continue talking to her and comforting Mrs. Chase, and finally, after I hang up, I fall onto my bed, and without even caring that I'm still in dirt-covered clothes, and slip into slumber.

* * *

"Lieutenant-Colonel Jackson."

I step forward, my head held high. I'm nervous; the secretary of the base approached me out of the blue this morning and instructed me to see our general after breakfast. "Yes, General?"

"You have been honourably discharged," General Hylla Ramírez-Arellano tells me.

I am shocked. "What?" I murmur.

"You heard me." The General frowns at my reaction. "Since the incident in which Major Chase was severely wounded and brought to the infirmary, your leadership and fighting has become incompetent. You used to be one of our best fighters, Lieutenant-Colonel Jackson. Your discipline of your soldiers, fight skills, and reflexes, among other things, were legendary. For those reasons, we appointed you Lieutenant-Colonel. Despite your young age, you proved that you were be an important asset to our base. Up until fairly recently, you upheld your duties and performed them well. That is, up until three weeks ago."

Annabeth was shot three weeks ago.

"You are temporarily discharged until you feel that you are competent enough to lead your battalion, then, in that case, you will re-join your rank," General Ramírez-Arellano finishes. "You are due to report back every two months. If you feel that your leading and fighting abilities are top-notch once more, you may return—once you pass our test to verify. You understand?"

"Yes, General," I reply firmly.

"You are now dismissed."

The thing is, I never really wanted to join the US Army. As much I enjoyed seeing the gratitude on the villagers' faces, fighting and protecting civilians never really was my thing. If someone asked me, years ago, what I wanted to be when I grew up, being a soldier would never have been my answer. But I joined the US Army anyway, for one reason:

Annabeth.

* * *

 **Is the format of this chapter confusing for you? Feel free to PM me if you are confused about anything and I'll be happy to explain :)**

 **Reviews:**

 **The Girl With 4 Fears: She got injured when she was shot and got a knife thrown at her. Happy new year to you too! (Even if it's really late :P) Thanks!**

 **Kinder forever: Yeah, they are! Well, yeah … but he got notified in the middle of the chapter anyways. Thanks!**

 **Average Canadian: You're welcome :) Thanks!**

 **Thanks for reading! Don't forget to follow, favourite, and/or review!** **J**

 **-K**


	3. Two

•Chapter 2•

 **Hi! Sorry for the long wait. I had exams, and after I finished that, I got sick :/**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2010

* * *

I opened the letter.

 _Dear Percy,_

Well, that's what I assumed it said. _Daer dcrey_ didn't exactly make sense. Her writing wasn't really girly … much neater than the majority of my classmates' handwriting—guys _and_ girls included. Her tails on her y's were written straight down … hmm, never saw that before. It made the letter somehow look much more interesting.

I slowly read the words on the crisp page in front of me.

 _Pleased to meet you! I'm Annabeth Chase, but of course, you already know that. Just because our teachers told us to hand-write our letter doesn't mean that they don't know how to use technology. I, for one, know that Mrs. Kerr, is, in fact, quite involved with modern-day technology. She has an iPhone, a Macbook Pro, uses powerpoints … stuff like that. (Before you ask, she's in her late 60s … so, no, she didn't grow up with electronics. And yes, most people retire when they're around 65, but she tells us she plans to continue teaching until she's in her mid-70s, since she loves teaching teens so much. I don't get it. How can teaching classes of rowdy high-schoolers be fun for anyone? I'm not even a teacher but my classmates give me headaches sometimes.)_

 _I'm dyslexic too! However, I don't get anyone to proofread my stuff, because a) I'm fairly sure they're all correct, and b) I don't trust anyone to proofread my homework. I mean, if they proofread my stuff, my grades depend on them! I'd rather depend on my own grades instead of asking other people, thank you very much. Get what I mean? If I asked them to proof-read my homework, they'd be blamed for not catching any mistakes, and it might cause them to be a little stressed because they didn't catch it and I didn't end up getting an A. But if I just proof-read my own stuff, no one would be to blame but me._

I blinked. _What?_ I internally sputtered. "How is that even possible?! Isn't she afraid of letting stupid errors slip by?" I muttered out loud.

 _Well, I'm Annabeth, as you know. I'm 17—almost 18. My birthday's in a few months. I have twin younger brothers, and they're really annoying sometimes. When they drive me up the wall, I usually go back in my mind to the times of when I was an only child, before Matthew and Bobby came—it works, believe me._

 _Don't get me wrong; I still love them. The twins are just a bit too rambunctious for my liking. They're still pretty adorable though—most of the time. But even when they're adorable, they're terrors._

 _Dude, if your hand is cramping up after writing such a measly letter, you ought to sort working out more. (Hint: life tip. Sorta.)_

I had to bite back a laugh when I read the last line. "If you only knew," I murmured to myself, my hand subconsciously flying to my arm to feel the taut muscle of my upper arm.

 _Sincerely,_

 _Annabeth Chase_

I picked up a pen and a piece of paper, and started writing back to her.

Occasionally nibbling on the top of the pen, I slowly worked my way through the letter.

"Alright, class." Mrs. Leer's cheery voice broke through my thoughts. "You have ten more minutes left to finish up your letter, and then, at 10:45, we'll move on to continue reading _1984_ , chapters 3 and 4. For those of you who have already finished and handed in your letter, you may sit quietly, read your own book, or do other homework."

Heart racing a little bit, I hurriedly completed the letter. After reading it over once, I looked up to the clock. _10:44_. I looked down at my letter once more and realized that I forgot to put my name down.

Grabbing my pen, I scrawled _Percy Jackson_ at the end of the paper, and handed it in.

 _Dear Annabeth,_

 _Not sure how your teacher knows how to operate all that … Mrs. Leer can't really use a computer, let alone any other stuff. I mean, seriously, once she couldn't find the space bar and had to ask for one of my classmates' help. Are you sure that your Mrs. Kerr actually made those slides or whatever herself? Maybe she blackmailed her son or something to do it for her._

 _Tyson's actually pretty decent as a sibling. I mean, he does get annoying sometimes, but it's not that bad. Are you sure your little brothers are terrors? Or maybe you're just exaggerating. In that case, chill out, Annabeth. Lower the drama. This ain't some drama audition for Romeo and Juliet. It's just an English assignment._

 _You think I'm not working out? *Gasps* I'm_ so _offended! You don't even know how much muscle I have. Bet you'd faint if you saw me, or swoon or something._

 _Your (offended) penpal,_

 _Percy Jackson_

* * *

2015

* * *

"Where are you going, Lieutenant-Colonel Jackson?" Magnus asks me.

I stop throwing my belongings into my duffel bag. "It's 'Percy,' Private Chase," I correct him, my hands resuming their work. "Not Lieutenant-Colonel." I proceed to pick up another piece of clothing and stuff it in the already-full bag.

"Wait. _Percy_? Lieu—ah— _Percy_ Jackson, what's going on?" another voice adds.

Whirling around, I see Private Beauregard walking towards me.

I only answer with one word. "Discharged." I drop the last piece of everything I own into the duffel and set it on my bed.

She gasps.

I answer the unsaid question that's on everyone's minds. "General says that I have to get my crap together before I can resume my leading," I huff. "She says that I've been a wreck since Annabeth—since she"—my voice catches—"got injured."

"Sorry, but she's right, you know," Beauregard says gently. "It's best to have a bit of a break when something like that happens to you. Besides, you've been a little … out of it lately. Not sure if you've noticed, but we've tried to help you, but it never really worked." I sigh and cross my arms, refusing to believe Silena's words, no matter, how deep down, I know that she's right. One should really have a break when their girlfriend/boyfriend/fiancé(e)/spouse gets severely injured, or worse, killed. The numbness and shock really affects you even if you're sitting down and doing nothing, let alone commanding a battalion in a war zone.

I grunt in response.

"We're not mad at you, we promise." Silena's gentle voice cuts through my thoughts. "We understand how hard it must be for you to go through this." Laying a hand on my shoulder, she quickly whispers in my ear, "If you want to talk about it, I'm here. I can probably help you a lot more than you think I can."

I actually never doubted her. I know that she's one of the best listeners and advice-givers in my battalion. And, she knows how I feel. She probably experienced more—much more, though.

She lost her fiancée, Second Lieutenant Beckendorf, to an explosion.

I give her a weak smile. "Maybe later?"

"Alright," she responds, taking her hand off my shoulder. "My shift is on in about an hour. The other troops have been pretty quiet lately, so it's just a scouting."

 _Scouting_. The two-syllable word brings me to a jolt. "Wait," I say. "Who's the new Lieutenant-Colonel, since, you know, I've been temporarily discharged?"

"We're not sure," Magnus admits. "General didn't tell us."

A lightbulb suddenly goes off inside my head. "You realize that I'm still your L.C., right?" I ask. Confused faces look back at me. "I mean, I haven't officially left. Yes, I _am_ going to get discharged, but I haven't … yet. That means, right now, I'm still in charge." I straighten up and say firmly, "This is my last order to Battalion A7." I turn to a brown-haired woman in her late twenties who's standing next to Beauregard. "Captain La Rue, I appoint you as the new temporary Lieutenant-Colonel. I expect you to uphold your duties and lead responsibly. You will continue to lead your battalion until General Ramírez-Arellano appoints another Lieutenant-Colonel."

I take off my Lieutenant-Colonel's badge and place it on the correct place on her jacket. "Remember your duty."

She nods, her mouth set into a thin line. I give her and the people sitting in the bunker a small smile, heft my duffel bag on my shoulder, and leave. Taking one last look at the bunker I stayed for many months, I turn my back and trudge to the place where General Ramírez-Arellano told me earlier to wait for the vehicle.

* * *

"The driver's coming," the General tells me once I arrive in the secluded area. "It's a bit hectic in the city right now, so he's stuck in the city. It might be an hour or two before he comes."

"Have I completed my duty? Is there anything that I have yet to do?"

She considers it. "No," she answers. "I believe everything is in order."

"I am allowed to roam the area, correct?" I ask her. She nods. "May I go visit Major Chase in the infirmary?"

"Yes, you may. Be—," she cuts off when her walkie-talkie comes to life with a burst of static. General Ramírez-Arellano swiftly grabs the black device and brings it to her ear. She listens to the crackly, slightly robotic voice speaking the language of the nation on the other end, and nods, responding in the same language. Turning to me, she resumes her sentence, clipping the walkie-talkie back to its original position. "Be back here in an hour and a half, or else your ride will leave without you, and you'll have to pay for your flight out of your own pocket."

"Yes, General. Thank you, General."

* * *

There's silence, save for the steady beep of the heart monitor.

I don't bother to go for the chair this time; instead, I head straight for her bed. I sit down on the clean, white sheets, and take her limp, pale hand in mine. "Did you hear?" I ask, smiling a little sadly. "They temporarily discharged me. Said that I've been a mess and an incompetent leader since you got injured. Until I get my crap together, I'm going to go back home."

I imagine Annabeth's grey eyes staring at me, her eyes narrowed and her expression in one of disbelief. She'd tell me, _Seaweed Brain, you truly_ are _a seaweed brain. Don't worry about me. I'm not going to leave you that easily. You should've focused on your duties._

Without thinking, I blurt out, "How can I not worry about you? You're in a freaking coma, for gods' sake!"

I actually expect an answer back. Even after 23 days of knowing that she's not going to reply, I sometimes still think she will.

I laugh a little, mostly to myself. "Still getting used to this," I mutter under my breath, running a hand through my jet-black hair.

I continue talking to her, and stop only when the clock on the wall tells me it's 16:35, or 4:35pm. I curse under my breath, stand up from the bed I had been sitting on for over an hour, and place a quick kiss on her forehead. It's a long way back to the station.

Besides, I have something important to do that might take a while.

I walk over to the curtains separating Annabeth's room and the hallway, and step outside. The machine monitoring her heart rate beeps steadily. It's the only thing that is giving me hope of her recovery. My feet tread lightly down the hallway, away from her room, the beeps growing fainter and fainter by the second.

 _Beep._

 _Beep._

 _Beep._

* * *

 **What do you think is the "important thing" that Percy has to do? Tell me in the reviews!**

 **Reviews:**

 **00-WisE-GirL-00: New reviewer! Cool name, by the way :) Here's another chapter! Thanks!**

 **Average Canadian: Thanks! I actually got the idea from Thalia Marie Grace's fanfic _Ten Steps Back_. It's interesting, right? Thanks! :) Here's the next chapter.**

 **The Girl With 4 Fears: No problem! :) Thanks!**

 **Kinder furever: Yeah, I just couldn't resist ;P Yeah, I haven't either. It's actually on hold for me at the library right now :P Thanks!**

 **Thanks for reading! Don't forget to favourite, follow, and/or review!**

 **-K**


	4. Three

•Chapter 3•

 **Hey! Happy Singles Awareness Day—ahem, I mean, _Valentine's Day_.**

 **Thanks for the follows/favourites/reviews!**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2010

* * *

As I watched Piper casually lean into her boyfriend while the three of us were watching _Star Wars_ reruns, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. My friend (and cousin) was lucky to have found such a girl. They were truly compatible for each other; there was no doubt.

Jason caught me staring at him and his girlfriend. Smirking, he told me, "Take a picture, Perce. It lasts longer."

I turned my head away. "I wasn't staring," I lied.

"Sure you weren't. Then why were you staring at us? Was a giant slug behind us or something?"

Piper smacked his arm. "Jason!" she scolded him. "Don't tease him." Turning to me, she said, "Seriously, Perce, you don't have to lie. It's alright."

I crossed my arms, refusing to give in.

"Percy …"

"Okay, fine!" I snapped crossly. I softened my tone and lowered my voice. "Fine, yeah, I was staring, okay? I'm just jealous how you guys fit together so well, like strawberries and chocolate, or bananas and fishy crackers, or—"

Piper interrupted me. "Ew. That's gross," she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Perseus Jackson, please tell me you didn't mean that when you said that bananas and fishy crackers went well together."

"I was serious!" I protested. Piper's mouth dropped open. _You've got to be kidding me_ , her eyes read. I fiddled with my hands before continuing. "Um, okay, then. But as I was saying—"

The daughter of the infamous movie star interrupted me again. "It's okay. We get it. You'll find your One, Perce. Whether it's next week or five years from now, you'll find her." She waved her hands around for emphasis. "I don't think that it's set in stone, that it's only _one_ person who is made for you."

I must've looked confused, because Jason jumped in. "What she means, Perce, is don't lose hope. You'll find her one day. But," he added with a smirk, "you really gotta stop staring at us."

Rolling my eyes, I chucked the empty pop can at my cousin, nailing him in the shoulder.

* * *

I arrived at room 127—English class, breathing heavily.

Mrs. Leer looked at me disapprovingly. "Mr. Jackson, the tardy bell rang ten minutes ago. You're late." The word "again" hung in the air, unspoken. She proceeded to glare at me. "Why were you late? Where's your late slip?"

"Sorry," I mumbled. Her glare intensified. Louder, I said, "Sorry, Mrs. Leer. There was a major traffic jam on the way to school." Meekly, I added, "And, I, uh, maybe woke up sort of late?"

She shook her head. _Why am I not surprised?_ , her expression seemed to say. "Your late slip?" was all she said out loud, instead. I handed her the pink piece of paper and headed down the aisle to sit down in my seat. "Oh, and Mr. Jackson," she added, placing a sealed envelope on the edge of her desk, "here is your penpal's letter."

I turned around, retrieved the letter, and continued my way to the empty seat in the classroom. Tearing open the crisp, white envelope, I pulled out the lined sheet of paper filled with Annabeth's neat writing.

 _Dear Percy_ ,

 _I'm seriously facepalming right now. You think that Mrs. Kerr would blackmail her daughter (I don't think she has any sons) to make her powerpoint? She's one of the sweetest ladies out there. She wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone hold a knife to her daughter's throat and demand for her to make the slides. (And no, I'm not just writing this so Mrs. Kerr won't get mad at me when she reads this; I actually mean it.)_

 _Jackson, have you ever babysat or looked after two ultra-energetic kids? It's exhausting. Imagine looking after a sugar-high six-year-old kid. Now multiply it by two. Yeah, even if Matt and Bobby are twelve years old, they are a handful. Percy, did you actually use "ain't"? Judging by your two previous letters, you didn't seem like the type of person to use those type of words._

 _Seriously? "Bet you'd faint if you saw me, or swoon or something." Cocky much?_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Annabeth Chase_

I laughed when I read her last sentence. "Well today's your lucky day," I murmured to myself, amused. Mrs. Leer had announced in the middle of class that today would be the day where we'd send our penpals pictures of ourselves. Pictures _she_ chose, our teacher emphasized. She basically meant that she was controlling our photo choices so it wouldn't be inappropriate or weird. However, she did say that we'd have a choice between three photos, in which we'd have to choose one.

Now that I was thinking about it, how _did_ she get ahold of our pictures? We only had school photos taken last week. The photos couldn't have developed so quickly and mailed to the school. I shrugged it off, thinking that she probably got our photos from last year's shot.

 _Dear Annabeth_ ,

 _Well, anything could happen, right? There were a lot of serial killers who were really nice and stuff, and when they were arrested for killing a dozens of people, everyone was really shocked. That guy, Ned Bunny or whatever his name is, was one of them. Don't remember much about what he did outside of his killing spree, but I think he was some active person in his community of something._

 _Nope. Tyson's pretty quiet, and he was the only person I usually looked after. My mom says that I would probably cause more of a mess than the kids I would be sitting for. I think she's right—it's the ADHD in me. I think._

 _Yeah, I used that word. Why so surprised?_

 _Don't believe me? Coincidentally, Mrs. Leer said that today is the day where we send pictures of ourselves to our penpals. Then you'll see that I'm not joking. Or being too cocky._

 _That awesomely handsome dude you're writing to,_

 _Percy Jackson_

* * *

2015

* * *

"Hi." I approach the receptionist. "I'm Percy Jackson." I actually am not quite sure whether or not most of the staff here in the infirmary speak English. I sure hope they do … I'm not fluent in any other languages.

"Yes?" she asks me. "How many I help you today?" Though her English is quite good, she has an accent that punctuates her words, making it hard to decipher.

"Um …" I pause for a moment. "I'd like to transfer Ms. Annabeth Chase to a hospital in the United States of America."

"In what relation are you to Ms. Chase?"

"Her fiancé," I answer. "Her family is currently in the United States of America, so they cannot sign the required papers. Mr. and Mrs. Chase have given me consent to represent them."

"Okay. I see." She types something into the computer, and, without looking up at me, asks, "Your ID card, bank card, and another piece of identification?"

I hand both my ID and bank card, along with my passport, to her, and she goes back to typing away on her keyboard.

She finally looks back up at me. "Alright." She leaves her chair to rummage through a nearby cabinet. "Here," she says, handing me a thick stack of paper. My eyes widen at the sea of letters on the first page.

"Um, Ms. …" I look at her nametag. "White?" She murmurs a "mhm?" and I quietly explain that I have moderate dyslexia, and that I'd be grateful if she could summarize the information of the package.

She agrees. "Alright." She flips through the pages, thoroughly explaining the risks, cost, and all that. In the middle of her explanation for one of the sections, and she stops and asks me, "I assume you talked to another doctor about this beforehand?"

"Yes," I reply. "Doctor Solace."

"Okay, good. The rest of the information are things he already covered when you were discussing this with him. So, all you have to do now, is sign here, here, and here"—she points to each of the blanks at the bottom of three separate pieces of paper using the tip of her pen—"and the infirmary will deal with the rest." She hands me another pen and I sign in the appropriate spaces. "Excellent," the dark-haired lady says. "The infirmary will verify all the information, as well as the desired hospital that you and Ms. Chase's family would like to transfer her to. If all goes according to plan and if there are no difficulties, she should be prepped and ready for transfer by next week."

* * *

The ride isn't eventful, but at least it's quiet, so I can have time to think. The driver in front, thankfully, doesn't make any small talk, and, neither does the guy sitting in front of me and the woman beside me. There's a suffocating silence, but it's for the best—we all know that. There're many risks, driving in the suburbs of this country. Lots of protesters, bombers, and attackers are hidden in the bushes and trees here. Many people love nothing more than a riot, or a scene. We just might give them one if we're not careful, and fall into the hands of the enemy.

We pass stretch after stretch of trees. Soon, the dirt-yellow path transforms into a slightly rocky lane, then into a brick-layered road, and, finally, a smooth grey highway. We're back in the city.

I long to close my eyes, to rest, but I can't. One thing I learned after all my years of training and serving, is that even when you think you're safe, you're not. Don't close your eyes unless you're absolutely certain. And there is no way that _anywhere_ in this place is safe. This country has been so war-torn and hazard-filled that it's pretty much impossible to state _anywhere_ is safe.

The driver turns off the highway, and directs his slightly rusty Honda to the right, where a marker states in bold letters: INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, 2KM RIGHT.

He pulls up in front of the large doors of the airport. "I … you … leave here," he tells us, his broken English punctuated by his strong accent. The driver unlocks the doors to the vehicle, gets out, and walks to the back of the car. The three of us throw open the car door, exit the black Honda, and profusely thank him in English. He nods, his eyes smiling, and places our three duffel bags in the arms of the woman beside me. The man shrugs apologetically, as if saying, _Sorry, but I can't read your names_. She quietly hands us our duffel bags, and he starts to get in his car. The man and the woman simultaneously turn and disappear into the thick crowd in opposite directions. Suddenly, an alarming thought comes to me.

"Wait!" I cry, sounding a little panicked.

The middle-aged man freezes in his steps and turns towards me. He nods, telling me to go on.

"Do we have to pay?"

"Pay?" he repeats, walking closer to me. "No, no. Lady pay already." He gestures with his hands. "Tall black"—he tugs his hair—"and, um, high. Very, very, very high." He sticks his hand in the air around 5 inches above his head. _Oh._ He must mean the General. I watch as he heads into the driver's side of the car once more, and shuts the door.

Suddenly, on impulse, I blurt out a "thank you" in the native language of this country. He looks at me through the passenger side's window, eyes wide. I tack on a "goodbye" in his native tongue again. Annabeth taught me the basics of this language when we first came here to serve. Despite my protesting, she said that it was never a harm to know the basics, even if I had—well, I still have one—a terrible accent that caused my fiancée to laugh when I butchered the words terribly.

He responds in the same language, and I turn and melt in the crowd. When I look back, the black car is already gone, and a silver one is in its place. I square my shoulders, fiddling with the bottom of the navy blue t-shirt I was given before I left with the driver and the two others. Tightening my grip on my duffel bag, I march to the check-in queue.

Next stop: San Francisco, California, United States of America.

* * *

 **By the way, I won't be revealing the country that Percy was serving in. I just don't feel comfortable. Hope you guys don't mind :)**

 **Reviews:**

 **Shutup and Be Creative: New reviewer! Thanks! Yes, there'll be angst and stuff in the story as well. Okay, well, then I hope I can impress you some more so you'll be drawn to it :) Thanks!**

 **Kinder furever: Thanks!**

 **Don't forget to favourite/follow/review!**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-K**


	5. Four

•Chapter 4•

 **Hi! Sorry for being M.I.A. for the past month and a bit. My computer crashed completely and I lost all my files, so I had to restart this chapter from scratch :(**

 **Thank you for the new favourites/follows!**

 **Warning: There is one character that is** ** _not_** **Frank who is Canadian, and he is incredibly rude and stuck-up. I assure you, not all Canadians are like that. Please don't get offended by his complaints about America.**

 **Here's a slightly longer chapter for you guys to compensate for my absence, haha :P**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2010

* * *

"There's nothing good to do right now!" my friend complained, flopping down onto her bed.

I looked up from my position on the floor, my fingers slowing down in their typing. "That's what happens when you finish a _group_ project two days after it's assigned," I told my red-headed friend, turning back to the laptop. "Without the rest of us."

"Shut up." She sat up and mock-glared at me. "It's not my fault that I'm not a procrastinator—not that I want to be one. And—"

"Last time I checked, being a procrastinator means finishing up a big project or essay the _night_ before it's due," I interrupted. "Not _not_ doing it immediately after it was assigned."

She snorted. "Whatever. Besides," she continued, reaching for a Sharpie, "there are so many applications I need to fill out for university, as well as checking with the office if I can visit the campus, I _need_ to finish all my homework as soon as possible so I can focus mainly on the apps." She opened the cap of the Sharpie and started to doodle on the back of her left hand. She muttered under her breath, "And filling out those apps also keeps my mind off that idiot." (Only she didn't use the word idiot.)

I feigned shock. "Did Rachel Elizabeth Dare just _swear_?!" I grinned, then added, "Hey, that rhymes."

She stuck her tongue out at me. "Yup. I can and I did." She sighed, capping the lid back on her Sharpie, and flopped back down. "I hate him."

I rose an eyebrow. "Red, don't you hate pretty every single guy within a ten-mile radius?"

"Pretty much," she agreed. "I have a right to hate this one, though. He's _the worst_. Here, take a look." She sat up again and lazily rolled off her bed, and, rummaging through her backpack—covered in doodles, of course—pulled out a few crumpled pieces of paper a minute later. Smoothing each piece out as best and she could, she passed the stack over to me.

Through lots of squinting and guessing (his handwriting was pretty much intelligible), I figured out that his name was Octavian. (I thought it was Octopus at first.)

 _Yeah, I seriously am the smartest person in my homeroom—no, grade. I'm also one of the top athletes in this school, and I have won more track awards than_ anyone _in the history of this school! Another thing: How can you Americans even live here? Your education system isn't even a system, it's a mess of curriculum guidelines and terrible textbooks! Speaking of terrible, everything here sucks and it's so. Weird. For one thing, why do you guys drop the 'u' from words like "colour," "honour," and "valour"? Also, the food tastes disgusting here. It's not even real food! By the way, maple syrup in Canada tastes_ so _much better than your plastic-y goo that you call "syrup." And did you know that I've made the Honour Roll since Grade Six? (That's when they started to hand them out.) I received my first scholarship when I was seven, and I was even featured in the newspaper twice, back when I lived in Canada! Did you know that I've already been accepted to MIT, Oxford, Cambridge, and—_

I stopped reading. "Yeah," I said, rubbing my eyes. "I've read enough. He's insufferable."

Rachel Dare snorted. "'Insufferable' doesn't cut it. I've been trying to be nice to him and all that—you know how hard it is?!—and he just brags about himself or Canada some more. Like, once, he was all, 'I'm going to be the Prime Minister of Canada one day because I'm so great,' so I responded with, 'Cool! I want to be an artist.' You know what his response was? He wrote, and I quote, 'Oh, you want to be an _artist?_ That's so lame. And stupid. No one famous in Canada is an artist.' Seriously, anything American-related you can think of, he probably has insulted, or at least complained about. He's even complained about _Disneyland!_ " she exclaimed, enraged. "Who complains about _Disneyland?!_ "

"Um, Re—"

Her voice rose, trampling my words. "And another time, he wrote, "'U.S., huh? More like U Suck.' What's that even supposed to mean? He's seriously such a conce—"

"Rachel," I calmly interrupted, effectively cutting her off. "You're going a mile a minute again."

She mumbled her apology, her mind clearly still occupied on Octavian.

"And his 'U Suck' thing?" I continued. Shrugging, I handed back Octopus'—I mean, _Octavian_ 's—letters to Rachel. "Maybe that was an insult?"

"Well, that's hardly an insult."

"Do you think we can send him a few of Mom's infamous cookies through the mail next time?" I joked, (sort of) changing the subject. "Maybe then he'll see that America isn't so bad after all."

Rachel rolled her eyes in response. "Yeah, because the cookies totally aren't going to go stale and he totally isn't going to complain," she answered sarcastically.

I shot her a cheeky grin. "Think it's worth a try?"

"Perseus Jackson, NO."

* * *

I stared at the picture in front of me. Annabeth Chase. Before, my penpal only had a name and a personality. Now, she had become a face as well. She was sort of pretty, I guess, with sun-kissed skin only people in sunny San Francisco could get, with eyes the colour of steel and a head of curly blonde hair that hung past the bottom of the picture.

My eyes shifted to the letter sitting unopened in front of me. I studied Annabeth Chase for a moment more before dropping the 2.5-by-4-inch picture on my desk and proceeded to open the crisp-white envelope.

Pulling the letter out, my eyes skimmed the first line.

 _Dear Percy,_

 _First of all, I'd highly doubt that she'd be a serial killer. Seriously. Second of all, his name is Ted Bundy. And, wow you actually carry around random information about serial killers in your head? Creepy, and also surprising. Didn't think you'd be the type to carry weird information around._

 _As your fellow ADHD-and-dyslexia-driven person, I totally understand what you mean. It's takes a lot of self-control to not bounce off the walls or run around when you have to watch someone, but hey, you gotta do it, or else the kid might be in danger. But my ADHD is pretty mild, so maybe it's harder for you._

 _I'd love to write some more, but I have a Chemistry unit test today, and it's the only subject which I might not get an average of 95% or higher in._

 _Nice picture, by the way. (Please note the sarcasm.)_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Annabeth Chase_

I picked up my pen and started writing back to her. Turns out Mrs. Leer had emailed our parents last week asking for photographs of us. (That totally didn't sound creepy or anything.) I think of the photograph I chose. It was taken over the summer by one of our counselors at a bootcamp a few of my friends and I went to in Florida. The picture was taken in the moment. It was snapped seconds before I got dunked in the lake by Jason, so I had a mostly-content look on my face, although my expression was in the early stages of turning into one of shock. Thanks to Leo for getting his hands on the picture and my mom for choosing it (the other two options were from last year's school picture and a picture of a toddler me, so … no), Annabeth now had gotten the impression that I had a mostly-content-though-slightly-shocked expression on my face most of the time.

Thanks, you guys.

 _Dear Annabeth,_

 _I am going to pretend I didn't see that._

 _WHAT?! You have ADHD too?! Mine's pretty bad though. Sitting still for a full five minutes feels like torture to me, and I suck at concentrating. Well, I did. When I was eleven or twelve, I got enrolled into a program where doctors tried to suppress your ADHD and trained you to control yourself. I don't know how to explain it, but it actually helped me. It still does. The only reason why I could watch Tyson was because he loves going to the beach or swimming pool, and that was one of the instances where I could watch him without feeling bored or antsy, so I took him there every time I had to babysit him._

 _"_ _Only subject which I might not get an average of 95% or higher in." You have to be kidding me. Honestly, Annabeth, if I looked up "nerd" in the dictionary, your face would be beside the definition. Chill out. You've already got at least a 90%, granted. That's an A. I'm sure you'll do fine._

 _Thanks for the compliment, Annabeth. :) I look good, don't I?_

 _Pleased,_

 _Percy Jackson_

 _P.S. My friend has been complaining about this guy in your English class; Octavian. I've read his letters and, oh my gods, it's terrible. All he does is brag about himself or insult America. How can you guys stand him?_

* * *

2015

* * *

As the plane touches down in the San Francisco International Airport, I can't help but let out a sigh of relief. Not sure why, but flying on an airplane never greatly appealed to me. With all three wheels of the plane on the cement runway, I now have a zero chance of dying, by either the plane dropping altitude because it decided to rebel and plunge into a cow-filled farm to squish the helpless cattle, or me choking on the disgusting airplane food. (Seriously, who knows what they put in there? It could be twenty-year-old cabbage or something smothered in pounds of flavour.)

I finish switching SIM cards on my phone, taking out the card I used overseas and replacing it with my American one. As I wait for the people in front of me to get off the plane, I tuck the old SIM card into my pocket and realize that it's over.

For now, at least.

I'm back home. Away from danger, away from the deaths of thousands of innocent men, women, and children. Away from the constant explosions, screams, and fires from a gun that had become my lullaby for the past nine months.

As if on instinct, I reach over to the seat beside me on my right, looking for the soft, warm hand that belongs to—

But she isn't here, I realize with a jolt. What good is it if I'm safe here in San Francisco when Annabeth is in danger of losing her life?

* * *

The aisle is almost deserted now, save for the flight attendants and a few passengers. I put on my jacket, ensuring I haven't left anything around my seat, pick up my duffel bag from the compartment above my head, and exit the plane, bidding the attendants goodbye.

* * *

I exit the doorways behind the customs counter and enter the arrival hall, where a huge crowd of people, some with large signs, some with arms laden with gifts, stand. No doubt they are waiting for their loved ones.

A little high-pitched voice on my left breaks me out of my thoughts. "Triton!" she yells happily, heading straight for me. "You're here!" The little girl, maybe around six or so, reaches me and hugs my waist, smiling up at me, her two front teeth missing. "Welcome to San Francisco!"

Startled, I smile at the child, her hair in two braids, and gently remove her arms from my waist. Kneeling down to her level, I say, "Thank you for welcoming me here, but I'm not Triton, I'm afraid. My name is Percy."

She frowns. "'Percy'?" she repeats. "Oops." She giggles, then adds, "But you look like him … I think. He has black hair and green eyes, just like you!"

"Julia!" A woman in her late twenties to early thirties comes running up to us. "Oh, Julia, there you are," she says breathlessly, skidding to a stop, her voice filled with relief. "You were beside me one moment and gone the next. Don't run off like that next time, understand?" she scolds.

"Okay, Mommy," Julia answers. "I won't do that again." Brightening, she exclaims, pointing to me, "But guess what? I found Triton's twin!"

I laugh. "I'm not Triton's twin," I tell Julia.

"You sure?"

"Yup."

"Really sure? Really really _really_ sure?"

"Uh huh."

"Oh," she says, mostly to herself. "Okay, then." She carries on to prod my cheek with a finger.

"Julia, don't do that," her mother reprimands. "It's rude."

"Sorry, Percy," she says, but noting the mischievous glint in her eyes, I can tell that she really isn't.

I chuckle. "It's okay."

Julia's mother looks at her watch. "Honey, it's time to go. Triton should be coming out any moment now."

"Oh. Okay."

Turning to me, the woman says quietly, so that Julia won't be able to hear, "Thank you for handling Julia the way you did. She loves to meet new people and is incredibly friendly, but many people don't welcome her enthusiasm and, more often than not, push her away. So, again, thank you."

I smile a little and shrug. "It's no problem," I answer. "She reminds me of my" — _girlfriend's siblings_ , I almost say— "friend's siblings, when they were younger."

"Then you certainly had experience." Smiling, she bids me goodbye.

"Bye, Percy-Triton!" Julia yells, grinning at the name she'd given me.

"Bye!" I smile and wave at the mother-daughter duo. As they disappear from view, I pull out my phone and text Annabeth's step-mother. _I'm at the SFIA arrival section now. Where do I meet you?_

Slipping the cell phone back into my pocket, I step outside and into the fresh, cool air of San Francisco. The fading pink-and-orange colour of the remaining dawn fills the sky of San Fran. My phone vibrates in my pocket. Pulling it out, I see that it's a text from Mrs. Chase.

 _I hope you've had a decent flight. Or, well, as decent as it can get while flying for 17 hours straight, even if you_ did _have a few overlays. Frederick will be picking you up. He says he'll be here at around 8:20 or so._ I let out a small groan when I read that. It's 7:35 right now, according to the big clock mounted on the wall. I continue reading her message. _I gave him your number so he can reach you at all times. See you soon, Percy!_

I reluctantly go back inside, and sit down on a cold, hard bench near the entrance. Thinking back to my little encounter with Julia and her mother, I realize one thing: Her mother was right. I _did_ handle Julia quite well—including the unexpected hug. It was Annabeth who taught me how to deal with kids. Even if she was being modest, she was convinced that she would be a terrible mother. We frequently had small disputes over the matter of having children once we were married. I was right all along; Annabeth _would_ be a wonderful mother. And, when she wakes up, I vow to convince her of that very fact.

* * *

 **As said earlier, please don't be mad at me for writing Octavian's complaints down. I don't agree with his views, and, like what Rachel said, who complains about Disneyland? And also, confession: I like to use Aunt Jemima's syrup as opposed to maple syrup. Yup, I'm a terrible Canadian, alright. Is Octavian going to disown me or banish me from Canada, then? ;)**

 **Reviews:**

 **percabethbooklion: New reviewer! Thank you for understanding! :)**

 **Freedom Hunter: New reviewer! Thank you. I normally update quicker than this, but my computer decided to go, "Nope," and died, so … yeah. Thanks!**

 **Kinder furever: Thank you! Oh, man. I feel ya. I hate it when people take my books without even asking. Thanks!**

 **Don't forget to review, favourite, and/or follow! :)**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-K**


	6. Five

•Chapter 5•

 **Hi!**

 **Man, I really do need to work on updating on time. Sorry guys.**

 **Thank you for all the follows/favourites/reviews! :)**

 **Just a quick note: I changed the ages of Annabeth's siblings from ten to twelve because I realized it wouldn't really fit with the storyline, and it'd be more likely to be closer to the canon universe. I believe the only part I changed in this story is in Chapter 3, in Annabeth's letter. It's a small change, really.**

 **I was just reading over my previous chapters, and I was wondering, is the plot going a little too slow, or is it just at the right pace? Please let me know in the reviews!**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2010

* * *

Either my mom or my brother knocked on my door, even though it was already open. "Percy, you busy?" the person asked softly.

"Ty, not now," I said without turning around. "I'm trying to complete all my homework." I gestured to the stack of textbooks beside me. "I'm only halfway through English, and I still have to complete a dozen questions for both Math and Science."

"Mama told me to tell you that she wants you in the living room."

Crap. _Did I forget to take out the trash or something?_ "If I forgot to do one of my chores, can you do it for me this time? I'll give you $10," I begged. "Please, little bro, I have a test tomorrow and I've barely studied for it."

"She says it's urgent" was his only response.

"Ty—," I started before looking behind me and realizing that he already was gone. I groaned a little before slamming my textbook shut and got out of my chair. Walking into the living room, I saw my mother sitting on the couch with Tyson at her side, her expression indecipherable, though I could see worry in her slightly creased eyebrows.

I stuffed my hands into the pocket of my hoodie—late February in New York City was still sort of cold—before taking a seat on the recliner next to the TV. "Mom? Tyson? What's wrong?" I asked, my voice filled with concern.

"Percy …" Mom started, her voice heavy. "They found him."

I rose an eyebrow, or attempted to, at least. The ADHD part of me wondered how I looked in my attempt at raising _one_ eyebrow. I bet I had both eyebrows up, with one slightly high— _Focus, Percy_ , I chided myself. _Now is not a good time._ "Who?" My heart was hammering. _No. No. It can't be_.

"Your father, Percy." Her voice cracked. "They found him."

"Well, isn't that good news?" I asked her, forcing my tone to be upbeat. "When can I visit him? Maybe Tyson and I could stay at his place for a while, if he has one. Or he could stay here. We haven't seen him in ages." I knew that I was saying random things. I already sensed my mother's next words. A sinking feeling filled my stomach.

She shook her head. "Percy … they found his body. He's dead."

* * *

My father was one of a kind. He had two drastic sides of him: one gentle and calm, like the eye of a storm, the other fierce and unpredictable. Tyson and I both had inherited his gentle side. My mom once said that, if he was a god of some sort, his fierce and unpredictable side would sink ships or cause tornadoes.

He went missing eight years ago, when I was nine. I closed my eyes, and think of that morning, when I was eating a breakfast of pancakes, Poptarts, and orange juice, he came over to where I was sitting, and ruffled my hair, ignoring my indignant complaint. My father, a man of 6 feet, with his black hair and green eyes. My father, the person I evidently resemble. He gave me a big hug, wished me a happy birthday, and bid me good-bye as he left for work. That was the last I'd seen of him. I remembered my younger self asking Mom, "Mom, where's Dad?" It was my birthday, and he never showed up to my birthday party, and after that, my birthday dinner. I remembered feeling both sad and angry at him for forgetting. I remembered Mom shaking her head and replying that he was busy and was sorry that he couldn't make it. I remembered her reassuring voice but worried expression.

I turned back to Annabeth's letter.

 _Dear Percy,_

 _Yeah, I guess my ADHD isn't that bad, compared to yours. I just usually get fidgety if I have to stay perfectly still for more than fifteen minutes. I mean "perfectly still" as in, I can't move a muscle. (Sitting in class for an hour and twenty minutes is alright because at least I can move around and walk up and down the halls when I "go to the bathroom" or "get a binder from my locker.") I take it that you like going water-related activities?_

 _Yeah, thanks, Percy. I'm already rolling my eyes. And if I looked up "imbecile" in the dictionary, your face would be beside it too._

 _Joking._

 _( … Or am I? Muahahahahaha ...)_

 _Clearly you don't understand sarcasm. Or maybe you're just too dense to realize sarcasm when you see it. I'll get my friend (his penpal is that Frank dude you mentioned earlier) to ask him if you're really as dense as I think you are._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Annabeth Chase_

 _P.S. Your question: How can you guys stand him? Mrs. Kerr's twelfth grade English class' answer: We can't._

I twirled my pen around, trying to think of what to say to my penpal. I was still in shock. My father was dead. Gone. He's never going to come back.

His funeral was planned to happen next week. I groaned and rested my head on my desk. I hadn't seen him in eight years. I'd been hoping that we'd meet again, and that he'd actually be my dad, not an M.I.A. dad. I was hoping he'd return to our family, and we'd be together again, like how I always dreamed it to be.

Half-heartedly, I wrote back to the blonde-haired, grey-eyed, soon-to-be-eighteen year old.

 _Dear Annabeth,_

 _The phrase "without moving a muscle" is on my Top 10 Worst Phrases To Hear list. Ugh. Just reading it already makes me shudder._

 _Really? "Sitting in class for an hour and twenty minutes is alright." How is that even possible? Even if you can move around, that sounds like torture. Thank goodness classes here are only an hour long … even if that's pretty long for me … (and sort of torturous)._

 _Yeah, I do—especially swimming. But it's not my favorite sport. Riding horses are. (I'm actually a jockey. As in, I competitively ride horses for racing.) It's really fun. You ought to try it sometime._

 _Wow, I'm hurt. I thought you were nice! How dare you hurt me like that!_

 _Oh, I understand sarcasm. I just decided to focus on the first part of that paragraph._

 _That "dense" person you're talking to (according to you),_

 _Percy Jackson_

* * *

2015

* * *

I finish eating the meal I bought a while earlier and look at my watch. _8:15._ Mr. Chase should be here soon. I gather up my stuff and head to the doors. My foot steps outside just as my cell phone buzzes. Pulling it out, I see it's a text from Annabeth's father.

 _This is Mr. Chase. Sorry for the late notice, but turns out that Bobby and Matthew had to complete some school project, and had planned to meet up with their partners before school today. I had no idea; they only told me ten minutes ago. I'm afraid that I'll have to pick you up later, at around 9 or so. Sorry about that!_

I sigh internally. Guess I'll need to wait an hour more before I can rest. Shooting back a quick message of _Alright, no problem,_ I pocket my iPhone, turn around, and head back inside.

I hate waiting.

* * *

"Where do I stay?" I whisper, fiddling with the ring on my finger, as Mr. Chase pulls up to the front of their driveway.

"Hmm?" he murmurs, slightly distracted. "I'm sorry; I didn't catch that."

I repeat what I said earlier in a louder voice. He doesn't answer as he parks the car and hits the button to lower the garage door. Finally, Annabeth's father turns to me, his shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry," he says again, taking his hand off the steering wheel. "We recently converted the guest room into an office." He sighs, rubbing his tired face with his right hand. I can already guess his next words. "You'll have to sleep in Annabeth's room."

I don't say anything. I continue staring at him in shock.

"You know how her bedroom is," he continues. "It won't be too uncomfortable. We'll just change the sheets for you."

"You don't need to do that," I tell him, opening the car door. "I'll be fine. Trust me." I get out and walk towards the front door.

He shakes his head as he gets out of the car, muttering something about "Percy," "torture," and "Annabeth."

Though I don't catch the full sentence, I can already guess what he means. Probably something along the lines of "Percy's gonna torture himself by forcing himself to be constantly reminded of Annabeth's condition." I pretend not to hear him, even though I fully know that he is right.

Mr. Chase opens the door for me and ushers me in. I enter, taking off my shoes and laying them on the rack beside the door. "Percy, you know where Annabeth's room is." I nod. "Make yourself at home." He taps his chin and adds, "Your mother knows you're going to stay here, right?"

I reply yes as I walk towards her room. "It was actually my mom who encouraged me to stay here," I call back. "She said that she'll be fine in New York with Paul. She said, and I quote, 'Don't come back until you are ready to. I know how hard it is for you and the Chases. Paul and I are devastated, too, but I'm sure Annabeth's family will need you more than we do.'"

I gently push open her door, imagining her sitting at her desk, papers filled with scribbles littering her desk and the floor around it. I imagine her blonde hair thrown into a messy ponytail, muttering something incoherent (usually about strategies or formulas) under her breath.

Her bedroom almost looks the same as I last saw it. _Almost_. The only difference is that there isn't a person named Annabeth in the room, but Mrs. Chase herself. Hearing the door open, she turns her head towards me and straightens up. "Hello, Percy," she greets me, her tone quiet and reserved.

"Hi, Mrs. Chase," I return, my voice just as soft. Sea green eyes meet dark brown ones, and an unspoken understanding passes between my future mother-in-law and I. She nods wordlessly and exits Annabeth's room, to give me privacy.

I drop the green-and-black bag onto the wooden floor with a _thump_. Everything in this room is so … _Annabeth_. Everything here screams her slightly messy closet, the tall stack of fiction and non-fiction books on her desk, the pictures of her family and me on the walls … it's impossible to not be reminded of her.

Quickly changing into a different t-shirt and shorts, I stumble into the bed and slip under the covers, tucking my hands behind my head, my face turned towards the ceiling. Closing my eyes, I inhale her lingering scent on her bed, imagining her beside me. After nine months of not sleeping on this bed, her scent is still here. I imagine her playfully teasing me about how I drool in my sleep. I imagine her smiling at me, talking to me, being her adorably genius self.

I smile as I remember all these things, how they happened at one point or another. I remember how we were so blissful and optimistic about life then. We were so carefree. We didn't know the dangers that lay ahead, and when we found out about them, it already was too late. Our world of light had already turned dark.

I close my eyes again, imagining my blonde-haired fiancée, thousands of miles away, laying on the hospital bed, comatose. "You're a fighter, Annabeth," I whisper. "You can do this. I _know_ you can. You can pull through. You can recover. _All_ of us believe in you." I pause, settling into a more comfortable position. "Your family needs you. _I_ need you.

"It physically _hurts_ , Annabeth. That's how much I miss you, how much I need you, how much I love you, how much I …" I roll over and bury my face into the pillow. "Please," I breathe out. "Please." I fall silent, wishing with every ounce of my soul that my girl can hear me.

Sleep soon starts to overtake me, but before I am fully off to the land of dreams, one more thing lingers in my mind:

 _We believe in you, Annabeth. Please don't let us down._

* * *

 **Reviews:**

 **percabethbooklion: That's mine too! :P Thanks!**

 **Average Canadian: Actually, I originally made him British, but I figured that since I've never been to any part of the UK or have known any British person, I didn't want to offend them in case I hit a nerve or something. Ya know what I mean? I'm Canadian, so I know all the hilarious and far-fetched stereotypes that everyone finds funny (like how it's permanently winter here), but I don't know about Britain. I am not a part of their culture, so I figured to just play the safe route and not ask for a possible death wish :P Nah, we can do it together :P Thanks!**

 **writingmermaid: New reviewer! Aw, thank you! I kind of work really hard on the heart-wrenching parts, which is part of the reason why my updates are so slow (and because I suck at updating in general lol), but I'm so glad that you like it! Thanks!**

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 **Don't forget to review, favourite, and/or follow! :)**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-K**


	7. Six

•Chapter 6•

 **Hi!**

 **GUESS WHO HAD TO RUN A 10K MARATHON A FEW WEEKS AGO? Me! Just kidding. I walked the whole way XD**

 **Thank you for the favourites/follows/reviews! They make my day :)**

 **Also, if you can, please check out my Mother's Day one-shot about Sally and Percy, called _For Percy_. That'd be greatly appreciated! :) **

**Happy reading!**

* * *

2010

* * *

 _BOOM!_

A clap of thunder resonated all around Manhattan as a crack of lightning zig-zagged across the sky. Rain pelted against my bedroom window, almost rhythmically. "Percy?" My mother appeared in my doorway, her wet hair in a towel-turban. "We leave in half an hour."

"To where?" I almost asked, but then I remembered:

Today was the day of my father's funeral.

"Your suit is in your closet," continued my mother. "Oh, and also bring something that you consider sentimental. It can be a picture of the two of you, or a gift your father gave you … anything, really. I'll be in the living room if you need any help."

"'Kay." I walked towards my closet and slid open the door. My new suit was there, amidst all my other suits and jeans, just as my mom said—not that I doubted her or anything. It was just a simple suit, nothing flashy or unique. Black pants, black tie, black dress shirt, black belt. But there was something else on the suit … something different. I stepped closer and picked the suit out of the closet, bringing it closer to my face. The shape of a small object was poking out of the fabric of the pocket. Reaching a hand into the black pocket, I wrapped my fingers around the object—I could now tell that it was a circular metallic object—and pulled it out.

I sucked in a breath. It was a _ring_.

I brought it closer to my eye-level and examined it. Suddenly, I realized why a ring, of all things, was doing in my suit. It was a family ring. I remembered, faintly, when I was younger, I asked my father about the ring on his fourth finger. "Daddy," I'd asked, "why are you wearing a ring? That's for _girls._ "

Dad had knelt down to my level and slid the ring off his right hand. "No, it isn't, Percy," he'd said. Holding the ring between his thumb and index finger, he'd told me that one day, I would inherit the Jackson family ring, because I was the firstborn son. My dad's side of the family was sort of weird that way; the norm of having family rings died out a long time ago, yet they still held on to that tradition. "When I turn 50, you will get this ring, just like how your grandpa gave me this when _he_ turned 50."

"What about Tyson?" I remembered asking. Tyson, only a baby then, was sitting nearby in the playpen and had clapped his hands together, excited, when he heard his name coming out of my mouth. "Does he get anything? Like another ring?"

"No. There is only one ring, Percy, and you are the one who will inherit it." Seeing my disappointed face, he had reassured me, "But don't worry, my boy. Your little brother will get something too. I promise."

A knock on my door brought me back to my body standing in front of my closet, coat hanger in hand. "You almost ready?" my mother called.

Cursing internally, I shouted, "Sorta!" and immediately shimmied into my suit.

I shoved the ring on the first finger I touched, not really caring which finger it was on. (Yup, apparently there were rules for that.) I could adjust it later. Sweeping my room with a glance, I settled on a sand dollar my father had given me after we went to the beach, just the two of us, for my birthday. Not sure how old I was then, but I distinctly remembered the feeling of joy when my father handed it over to me and said, "Keep it," and proceeded to tell me to use it whenever I felt appropriate.

I wondered whether or not my father would consider his own funeral an appropriate occasion to use this sand dollar.

* * *

"I'm sorry for your loss."

I nodded numbly as person after person repeated that same sentence, over and over to me. "Thank you," I kept saying, each time more emotionless than the last. Inside, each time they said that they were sorry, I wanted to ask them, _Are you saying this because you truly are sorry or because you feel obligated to say so? Did you even know my father well?_ My father's influence impacted a lot of businesses here in Manhattan and changed it for the better. As a result, many wealthy businessmen despised him, for he exposed their schemes.

I walked out of the church, the funeral over. It was now time to bury my dad, and say good-bye to him one last time. Meeting my mother and brother at the front of the large, Victorian-style church, we walked to the black hearse containing the coffin Dad was in.

The ride was short, and before I knew it, the grass had been dug up and it was time for me to lay my sand dollar inside his coffin. I approached the open casket, letting my eyes linger one last time on my father's face. Tucking my father's gift into his pocket, I stepped back and watched as the workers at the funeral home closed the lid, and lowered the mahogany coffin to the ground.

They began to cover the hole—now containing coffin with my dad in it—with soil.

This was it.

My father was officially gone.

* * *

Adjusting to life after the funeral was harder than I expected. Some days, I'd forget that my father was dead, and it'd be a terrible jolt to reality when I remembered.

I hoped that I'd never endure this again. Going through it once was painful enough.

* * *

As the fire alarm rang from the PA system, I concentrated on reading Annabeth's letter. It was annoying enough that the letters on the page were moving around; the _Brinnggg!_ from the sound system didn't help. "It's not a drill or a real alarm," Mrs. Leer had said. "Just go back on working on your letters."

 _Dear Percy._

 _Um … it's possible? And wow, really, you keep a list of that? A "Top 10 Worst Phrases To Hear" list?_

 _Gosh, I don't know why or how they can. Why don't you ask your friends how they do it?_

After what felt like an eternity, it stopped. Oh, thank goodness; it was getting quite annoying and certainly was _not_ helping me concentrate.

 _…_ _Oh, wait, that's because you don't have any._

 _Haha. Kidding._

 _Jockey, huh? Interesting. It isn't really common here in San Fran. As much as I'd love to ride a horse, I can't. I'm a bit scared by them. (Yep. You read that right. Big ol' tough Annabeth Chase is a bit scared of horses. *Gasp*) And my mom would probably have a heart attack if she found out I was on one. (She is TERRIFIED of horses. She's convinced they're evil beasts who will look for opportunities to throw you off and then trample you.)_

 _Aren't you always hurt? I'm getting confused now. Are you a banana or a human? 'Cause right now, I think you're a banana, and last time I checked, bananas can't hold pencils._

 _Well, aren't you a load of sunshine and rainbows!_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Annabeth Chase_

 _P.S. Okay, all insults aside and all, are you alright? I don't know how, but I sensed some sadness or something in your last letter. Is everything okay on your end?_

"Mr. Jackson?" Mrs. Leer appeared in my peripheral vision. "I'd like to see you after class." She then turned around and left.

A thousand things ran through my head. Was I in trouble? Were my grades low? (Actually, they already were low, depending on who you'd ask. Rachel, I know for one, would say that they already were too low—Annabeth too, probably, if she saw last semester's report card.) Did the principal back at the elementary school I went to discover that I was actually the one who accidentally killed the class fish? (It was an accident, I swear!)

I shrugged. Whatever it was, I'd find out in half an hour or so.

 _Dear Annabeth,_

 _WOW. Wow. Okay. I see it now. You're a bully. :(_

 _What. How? Horses are the best. (They're better than most people, anyways.) Have you tried convincing your mom to be more open-minded and realize how awesome horses are? Yeah, there are a few rogue ones that are terrible, but that doesn't define all horses. Some are really gentle and sweet. Really._

 _Why are you scared of them? Just curious._

 _I'm a banana :) Good work, Detective Chase. You found out your penpal is a banana! A 5-foot-11-inch tall banana, to be exact._

 _I know I am, no need to remind me :)_

 _Your Rainbow Boy,_

 _Percy Jackson_

 _P.S. Yeah, I'm okay … sort of. No need to worry, though. I thought you'd prefer me as subdued and quiet rather than annoying and obnoxious. ;)_

* * *

2015

* * *

The call comes on Tuesday evening, around a week after I arrive back in the U.S. Seated in the Chase's dining room, I am helping the twins with their homework (more like making sure they don't goof off or start playing League or Skyrim or something), when the phone rings. I get up and cross the room to retrieve the battered-up house phone discarded somewhere on the couch. I fumble with the phone before finding the _Answer_ button and hit said button, my back to the twins. "Hello?"

"Is this Mr. Frederick Chase?" asks an unfamiliar voice on the other end.

"Uh, no," I answer. "He's not at home right now. If you would like, I can take your message. May I ask who is calling?" Out of the corner of my eye, I see the twins perk up in interest. I wave the twins away, mouthing, _Do your homework._

"This is Mr. Nicoll, regarding Ms. Annabeth Chase's transfer from the hospital." My heart speeds up. _Annabeth_.

"Perce?" I turn and see one of the twins—I'm 90% sure it's Matthew—at my side. "Who is it? And when's Mom and Dad gonna come home? I need to ask Dad something about the War of 1812."

At the mention of the word 'war,' I wince a little. That stupid three-letter word brings back a lot of unpleasant memories from my time overseas.

"It's for homework," adds the other twin.

"Oh, excuse me for a second. Sorry." I lift the phone away my face and shush the fifteen-year-old pair. "Guys, keep working on your homework. If you stay quiet and finish your homework by dinner, I'll bargain with your dad and see if he'll let you play Skyrim for an hour before you go to bed. Just this once. Okay?"

The twins pump their fists the air. "Deal," they say.

"Okay, I'm back," I say before realizing that the person on the other end is not a family member or friend, but a _stranger_. A stranger who is dealing with Annabeth's case right now, that is. I cough in an attempt to cover up my mistake. "Uh, I mean, yes? What about Ms. Chase's transfer?"

The man hesitates. "This is highly personal information," he finally says.

"I'm her fiancé," I try.

"The name written on the transfer paper is a Mr. Frederick Chase. I'm sorry."

"But I'm the one whose pen touched the paper!" I protest. "I was deployed overseas with her, and when she got shot, I contacted her parents and they permitted me to sign the transfer papers! It says 'Frederick Chase' on there be—"

Suddenly, I see the porch light turn on, then the familiar jingle of keys as one is inserted into the lock, then another, and I stop mid-sentence. A moment later, Mr. and Mrs. Chase walk through the front door, the latter folding up the damp umbrella and placing it back into the stand. I stare at the middle-aged couple. Even though I'm slightly miffed that Mr. Chase has to hear the news first, I'm glad that at least we'll get news of Annabeth's transfer much quicker, now that her father is here. I inform Mr. Nicoll that Annabeth's father had just come through the front door. "One second, please," I say, proceeding to walk over to the sandy-haired man. His expression takes on one of confusion as I shove the grey-and-black object into his hands. "Annabeth," I hiss before he can say anything.

Eyes widening, he snatches the phone up to his ear. "Hello? Yes, this is he …" He disappears into the adjoining kitchen.

I turn to Mrs. Chase. "Some Mr. Nicoll is calling to say that Annabeth is ready for transfer," I explain. I prepare to go back into the dining room to make sure the twins aren't playing Skyrim or something, when I remember something: the deal. "Oh, and Mrs. Chase?" I spin around on my heel and face her. "Don't be too surprised if the twins—"

At that moment, Bobby (I think) comes running around the corner. "Mom, can Matt and I play Skyrim for, like, an hour before we have to go to bed? Percy he—"

"Bobby, can we talk about this later? In five minures?"

He nods and turns to go back to where he came from. "Okay."

His mother faces me again. "Percy, you were saying?"

I mentally facepalm. "Never mind," I mutter. "Bobby was asking the same thing."

* * *

 **I hope the ending of this chapter wasn't that abrupt and awkward. I couldn't think of any other way to end it, so … yeah …**

 **Reviews:**

 **percabethbooklion: Yeah, poor Percy. Hope things brighten up soon, huh? Thanks!**

 **Angelthegenderconfusedcat: LOL I have three friends named Kevin. I'm sure they appreciate having their name written eight times. :P (Yes, I counted.) Thanks!**

 **DerpMuffinPJO (Chapters 5 and 6): New reviewer! What. I never even knew Octachel was a thing, haha. Ouch. The feels landed on your head? Sorry. I'll provide a band-aid next time. Or a pillow, even? :P Thanks!**

 **Average Canadian: Thanks!**

 **Don't forget to follow, favourite, and/or review!**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-K**


	8. Seven

•Chapter 7•

 **Hey!**

 **I actually uploaded, like, what, twice, this month? Woo! Yay! Good job, me!**

 **(Actually, I think this is the second time ...)**

 **Thanks for all the follows, favourites, and reviews! :)**

 **Okay, yeah, sorry for the late chapter. I had a bunch of applications, forms, projects, and tests to do. May and June are both pretty stressful months for high-schoolers. (Or at least for my district.) Also, I promised myself that I'd upload this chapter last week and look how that turned out XD**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2010

* * *

The first thing Mrs. Leer did when I walked up to her desk after class that day was scrutinize me. For whatever reason, I didn't know.

The second thing she did was say, "Well done, Mr. Jackson."

"Um, for what?"

She looked at me like I'd suddenly grown three heads. "Your grades for this English semester has improved greatly," she answered me, looking like she wanted to add, _Duh_. Probably whatever respect or admiration or liking of me she had earlier disappeared already.

"It has?" This was a surprise.

"Yes." She sounded pretty impatient. "How has your correspondence with Miss Chase been?" asked my teacher, changing the subject.

"Good?" I replied, my response coming out more like a question than an answer.

She beamed. "She is an absolutely _wonderful_ girl," she said, clasping her hands together. "I just _knew_ that she'd be a positive influence on you. She is such a nice girl, so smart and responsible…" She smiled again. "I take it that everything has been going fine between the two of you?"

I nodded. "Yup. But don't you read our letters?" I blurted out.

"Yes and no. It will be pretty hard to grade 30 letters in a day for both Mrs. Kerr and me. We both decided that if we paired our most trusted and responsible students with other, similar students, it'd be a pretty much guaranteed that those letters will have no problems.

 _Wait wait wait. Hold up. Hold up._ I pointed to myself. " _I'm_ considered trusted and responsible?"

Mrs. Leer sighed. "Mr. Jackson, surely you know you are not considered responsible among the staff here." Ouch. Thanks for the reminder. "However, I feel that you just have the bad habit of attracting trouble. So yes, to answer your question, I do read them, but I have stopped reading a select few a while back. Yours and Annabeth's are one of them. If you do something that makes me think that you cannot be trusted, I will read them again."

"Um, thanks," I mumbled. "It's, uh, sort of lunch right now. May I please go?"

But Mrs. Leer already had her back turned to me, and was humming some tune as she was graded some papers. I took that as my cue to leave. Ugh, was I just naturally bad at ending conversations with teachers, or was it a universal thing?

* * *

"What took you so long?" was how I was greeted when I finally got to the usual table in the cafeteria.

"Mrs. Leer told me to stay behind to talk about my grades," I explained as I sat down. "Apparently they're going up." I didn't mention anything about Mrs. Leer not reading my letters; they didn't need to know what. Besides, I figured our English teacher would appreciate that. I looked around the table, pulling out my lunch. "Where's Leo?"

"Detention. Possibly a meeting with an extremely angry science teacher and the principal." From the tone of voice Rachel said it, she didn't sound surprised. None of us were, actually.

"What did he do this time?" asked Jason, leaning forward in interest.

"He taped Mr. Bonsai's sandwich to the ceiling." We all burst out laughing at that part. "Well, technically, the Stolls did that," Rachel amended, "but Leo helped, so he's in trouble too."

"Connor and Travis got Leo to rig up some contraption where if someone else tried to get the sandwich from the ceiling, the fire alarm would ring until the correct passcode was entered into the keypad. Only Leo knows the code, of course," added Piper.

That explains the alarm during English class that rang for, like, a minute.

"Did Bonsai got Leo to stop the alarm by threatening his grades or something?" I asked.

Rachel shook her head. "Nope. He shut off all the power outages in his room. Because the alarm he made was connected to the PA system, ya know? Like even if it wasn't a real alarm, with the bell and everything, it was still really annoying."

"And since the power had to be shut off, Bonsai couldn't really teach, so, well, no homework for tomorrow."

"That was sorta obvious," I told Piper. She shrugged in response and bit into a corner of her sandwich.

We lapsed into silence as we all began focusing on the food in front of us—Greek salads, fruit, sandwiches, and pizza. Finally, a voice on my left broke the silence. "Don't you think it's weird that Mr. Bonsai's last name is Bonsai and he teaches all the Science subjects here?" Nico asked.

We all jumped, with Rachel choking on her salad. None of us heard him come. Piper, who was beside her, pounded her on the back until the coughing ceased. "Dude!" she exclaimed, recovering. "Quit sneaking up on us like that!"

Nico shrugged in response. "Not my fault you guys didn't hear me come."

"Not my fault you're a walking shadow," she shot back, half-joking, half-serious, and that was that.

* * *

The next week, I was the first one to get Annabeth's letter. Frank, who was right behind me, asked, "Your penpal's name is Annabelle, right?"

I shook my head, correcting him. "Anna _beth_." Mrs. Leer handed me her letter and I waited for Frank to get his.

"Oh. Right. Sorry. Anyways, my penpal's name is Hazel Something-or-the-other, and she wrote last week that Annabel—uh, I mean, Annabeth asked her if you were really as dense as she perceived you to be. I don't know how to answer her." He got his letter and shot a quick thank-you to Mrs. Leer, and we started walking over to our desks.

I groaned as I sat down on the orange chair. "She told me that she'd do it. I never thought she was serious. Can you, like, make up something really random and just send it?"

He grinned, shaking his head. "Nope. I've made up my mind. Too bad." Frank was seated across the aisle from me, and shot a smirk in my direction as Mrs. Leer handed the last kid their letter and told the class to start writing.

Actually, she went, "Alright, class! Stop talking, stop reading other things; it's time to start writing to your friends!"

I slammed my face on the wooden desk once and started wrestling with the envelope flap.

 _Dear Percy,_

 _No, I'm not. I'm just stating the truth. :P_

 _For once, I totally agree with you. Well, I half-agree, at least. Animals are so much better than most of the idiots in my class. At my school, really. And my neighborhood. Basically, they're better than pretty much everyone I know._

 _Well, of course I have! My mom has been very adamant about this topic. "No, Annabeth. Absolutely no horseback riding. Nor are you allowed to have anything associated with them either," she'd say whenever I'd ask her. "They're bloodthirsty beasts who will trample you whenever they have the whim to." I try to tell her that horses have different personalities, just like dogs and cats (AND HUMANS!), but she won't listen to my reasoning. At all._

 _I honestly don't know why. Maybe it's because my mom's "warnings" about them instilled fear into me. I'm working on getting rid of that fear, though :)_

 _I was going to make a joke about you being a banana, but I decided against it. It's probably for the better, anyways. ;)_

 _By the way, Jackson, if you want to just get things off your chest (your problems, worries, anything), feel free to talk to me. I'm a better listener than most people think. I give horrible advice though. Sort of. Depends on what you define as "horrible." My advice is more practical and analytical than emotional. But seriously, if you need to, you can talk to me about anything. I won't judge you or laugh at you, I promise._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Annabeth Chase_

I smiled at the last part. That was nice of her.

 _Dear Annabeth,_

 _-_- … I have no words. You are so mean to me, Annabeth._

 _…_ _Either you're being really picky when it comes to classmates (or people in general), or you're not exaggerating and they're really that bad. I'm leaning towards the first one. People aren't that bad. The people at my school are awesome! :)_

 _Geez, what did those poor, innocent, awesome horses do to Mrs. Chase to piss her off like that and be horse-haters for the rest of her life?_

 _*Gasps dramatically* Did little Miss Perfect Annabeth Chase make a joke? A dirty one at that? I never knew you had it in you! *Claps* Welcome to the real world, Miss Annabeth!_

 _Okay. You give horrible advice. Got it. Noted. I'll make sure to never go to you for advice._

 _Just kidding._

 _Maybe._

 _Thanks for the offer. I'll keep that in mind. (Or for as long I can remember, which is, I regret to say (not really), not that long …)_

 _For once I have no weird or random letter closing. This is sad._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Percy Jackson_

* * *

2015

* * *

"Welcome home, Wise Girl," I say, starting at her still body. I look around at the expressions on her family's faces. It's the first time they see her face to face after she left, I remember. Seeing her like this must be extremely shocking for them. "I'll leave you guys alone," I say to no one in particular.

As I turn to leave, a man with brownish-blonde hair opens the door. "Hello. I'm Doctor Fletcher. Here is the latest update on Miss Chase's condition. It's improving, which is definitely a good thing. I believe we'll be able to take her out of the coma soon." He smiles at the last part, his grin mirroring everyone's in this room, save for my fiancée's.

"When will that be?" Mr. Chase asks, his joy evident in his voice. "Next week, maybe?"

"Next week at the latest, Saturday at the earliest." It's Thursday today. "Mr. and Mrs. Chase," he continues, turning to Annabeth's parents, "I'd like to go over some information …"

I take that as my cue to leave, and I do so, quietly shutting the door behind me.

* * *

A few days later, the twins, Mr. and Mrs. Chase, and I are surrounding her bed, watching as Doctor Fletcher does the stuff he needs to do to terminate the medically-induced coma Annabeth is currently in right now. He walks around her bed, purpose in his stride, and, carefully avoiding the machines, inspects all the dials. "Alright, here goes," he mutters, and then he—actually, I don't even know what he does. His back obscures us from observing.

After a moment, he straightens up and looks at us. "Annabeth should be coming out of her coma anytime in the next few days," he tells us. "You may watch her, of course, but if she wakes up when none of you are around, I'll be sure to notify you."

"Thank you," Mrs. Chase says gratefully, and we part ways.

* * *

I find myself by her bedside again at the end of the day, even though I know she won't be out of it yet. "Hi, Bethie," I say, using the nickname she despises so much. "You're not going to kill me for calling you 'Bethie,' are you?" I manage a weak smile.

I glance around the room. Once of the nurses had opened the curtains so sunlight spilled in from outside, and another had placed flowers next to the bed, on the table. "Doctor Fletcher brought you out of the coma. Says you should be waking up soon."

I place my hand on her arm, then slowly move it down until it reaches her hand, playing with the fingers on her right hand.

Suddenly, I feel her index finger twitch a little. Once. Just once.

But once is already enough.

"Annabeth?"

Nothing moves this time, but I already know: She's going to wake up.

Sooner or later, whether a day or a week, it doesn't matter—she's going to live.

As much as I want to wake her up, right now, I know it doesn't work like that. I have to let her wake up on her own.

There's nothing else to do but sit there and wait.

And that is exactly what I do for the rest of the day.

* * *

 **DUN DUN DUN. Yup. That happened. Yay! Annabeth's gonna wake up! :)**

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 **Angelthegenderconfusedcat: Oh man, every time I write your penname, I'm always scared that I'll spell it wrong :P Wait … lemme get this straight. Your dog is named Kevin Angel Fish but he is not a fish nor an angel but your penname is a cat who's named Angel. Got it. Okay. Thanks!**

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 **-K**


	9. Eight

•Chapter 8•

 **Hi guys!**

 **Sorry I haven't updated for almost four weeks. My last final exam finished yesterday, and things leading up to exam week were very hectic for me.**

 **Thank you so much for the ten reviews! Keep it up, guys! :)**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2010

* * *

Weeks turned to months and … wait, how did that last chapter of the book I was studying in English go?

Anyways, it was soon June, and our penpal project was coming to a close.

Fourteen letters. Annabeth and I had written fourteen letters to each other (I think)— twenty-eight in total.

Or was Annabeth's latest letter the twenty-ninth one?

Something like that. Anyways, I was opening my penpal's letter when Mrs. Leer suddenly announced, "Class, I have some good news and bad news. Bad news is, this project is coming to a close. You will be writing your last letter to your penpal today." Half of the class cheered. ("Finally!" muttered Rachel, who was sitting across the aisle on my right.) The other half groaned. I stayed silent.

" _However_ ," continued our teacher, "Mrs. Kerr and I have agreed to let you exchange email addresses if both parties agree. _Both_ parties," she said again, just to make it clear. "Even if you are willing and eager to but your penpal is not, email addresses may _not_ be exchanged." She glanced at Rachel, who looked like she was ready to celebrate or jump off the walls with joy (or possibly both), which was definitely a very unRachel-y thing to do. "If you are interested, you only have this letter to bring it up to your penpal, and due to how the schedule worked out, the decision of exchanging email addresses will ultimately be up to your penpal.

"So, without further ado, the letters! Rachel"—she held out a letter to my redheaded friend, who, upon receiving it, held her letter by pinching a corner of the envelope, her face one of disgust—"Frank"—he got up to get his—"Michael…"

I waited as patiently as I could. Trying to stop my leg from bouncing up and down or my finger repeatedly clicking on the top of my pen was useless, but at least I didn't get up and "go to my locker," so that was improvement … right?

Her voice droned on and on. "Nyssa"—footsteps went to the front of the room—"Percy"—I shot up out of my desk and eagerly ran to the front of the room, grabbed the envelope from her hand, uttered a thank you (which was drowned out by her voice saying the next name, but whatever), and tore it open.

 _Dear Percy,_

 _I'm so sorry that this letter is really short and stuff, but I came in late to English class today—half an hour late, to be exact. Yup. You read that right. I was_ late _. Ugh, I hate it! I pride myself on having a pristine attendance record. But it wasn't my fault, I swear. Blame my idiot brothers. My parents are out of town this week because my dad's flying to Cardiff University (in (surprise, surprise) Cardiff, Wales) to give a lecture about the ancient Greco-Persian wars that started in 499 BC and ended in 449 BC, and the American Civil War. The Greco-Persian wars are quite fascinating, really. My step-mom went to accompany him to "show support," but I think part of her reason is because she's never been to Wales before. Our whole family went to Wales once, but my step-mom had to perform an emergency 12-hour surgery on one of her patients, so she missed the flight. And since our parents are out of town, I'm tasked with making sure they don't accidentally set the house on fire … or our cat. (It almost happened before … I was around three, okay?) So, Goode Middle School thinks of this genius idea to call the high school to get me to sit with the principal and homeroom teachers of seventh grade to discuss the twins' punishment._

 _Want to know what happened?_

 _My idiot brothers decided that it'd be really funny to screw up the seventh grade presidential process. They're immature twelve-year-olds; remember that. This election, according to Bobby, was between, Corey, Nancy, and Raj. Yesterday was voting day. The school passed out these little sheets of paper that had three names with a box next to each one. So, my brothers decided that it'd be funny to write "Chuck Norris" beneath the three names and hand it in. They told their friends, word caught on, and it spread like wildfire. Soon, around half the grade had put "Chuck Norris" as their choice. This affected the votes so badly, the seventh grade teachers had to put this entire thing off._

 _When they found out it was Bobby and Matthew's idea, they got sent to the principal's office._

 _I think they're getting suspended._

 _Wait until my parents hear about this. They're going to be so happy._

 _Oh, as it turns out, this letter is longer than I thought it would be. (Guess I sacrificed neatness for quantity.)_

 _But it was mostly a rant, so it doesn't count._

 _Or does it?_

 _I don't even know at this point._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Annabeth Chase_

I wrote back:

 _Dear Annabeth,_

 _I'm dying of laughter over here. Your brothers' prank is genius. Two of my friends are brothers (they're only a year apart) and they get in trouble a lot for their pranks. I think your brothers would get along great with the Stolls. And probably pull off the biggest heist ever recorded in American middle/high school history. :)_

 _It's okay. I've done more stupidly hilarious things—according to Nico, who's sitting beside me write now. Get it? Hah, I'm so funny. XD_

 _Anyways, it's storytime with Percy! Our coach once told us to meet at a park for a track and field meet at 7:30am. My mom was out somewhere then, and my brother was asleep, so there was no one who could save me from my stupidity. I headed out the door at, like, 7,_ without looking at the directions _. Yes, I can already tell you're facepalming at this point. So I took the train to the station our coach mentioned was within walking distance to the park, but after that … I had nowhere to go. I didn't know where the park was. So I went back home and claimed that I "felt sick." The next day, Coach chewed me out so badly, but it was worth it. I mean, I got to go back to sleep! I love sleep! My entire class was watching the entire thing unfold and they were dying of laughter. -_-_

 _Yes, I know. I am a genius._

 _Yeah, I think rants count as a letter. In my book it does, at least._

 _Wow, Annabeth doesn't know something and I do! *GASP* WHAT HAS THE WORLD COME TO? Have Chase and Jackson switched minds?_

 _Should I go by Percy Chase and you by Annabeth Jackson now?_

 _"_ _Annabeth Jackson" sounds weird though._

 _The future Albert Einstein,_

 _Percy Jackson_

"So, seeing as it's June already, we'll start doing reviews for our final exams. And since you've all done your SATs in March, your final exam will not cover anything related to that," said Mrs. Leer after we all handed in our letters. "Frank, take notes for Reyna, since she's at a doctor's appointment."

"You can't really study for an English final exam, can you?" I whispered to Frank as I took out my laptop. "I mean, it's mostly comprehension and essays."

He shrugged. "I guess."

"You gonna miss writing to your penpal?"

He shrugged again. "I guess."

Taking it as a sign that he didn't really want to talk, I shut up and focused on what Mrs. Leer was saying, though it was really, really hard. No matter how hard I tried to concentrate, I couldn't process her words. Everything she said went into one ear and literally out the other. I hoped that I was typing whatever she said down correctly.

 _Speaking of 'correctly' … what word is always spelled incorrectly? Incorrectly! Ha, I'm so funny. I ought to become the next comedian. Hm … Percy Jackson, world-famous comedian. That sounds pretty nice._

I groaned. Ugh. I was losing focus. _C'mon, Perce_ , I told myself. _Focus. You can do this_. _You gotta do well on this exam. Focus, focus, fo—_

Aaaand … there went my focus again. How did Annabeth do it?

* * *

2015

* * *

A week later, Annabeth still hasn't woken up from her coma. "Patience," Doctor Fletcher would tell me whenever I asked him about it. "She'll wake up when her body decides it's time to."

I sit by her now, my fingers impatiently tapping out an irregular rhythm on the mattress. "So funny thing happened today …" I begin saying after a while. "Remember how Piper goes to Ohio State University? So, her dad just randomly decided to pop in and surprise Pipes with a visit. I think he had a day off from shooting this film or something … I don't really know. Anyways, so he read the numbers upside-down or remembers it wrong or something, because after he got into the dorms (and after signing a dozen autographs, probably), he went into Room 262 and sat down on the bed. And then he took a selfie with the bed as the backdrop and sent it to Piper, captioning it with, 'Guess who's here!'

"But get this." I crack up laughing unexpectedly and fight to regain my composure. I fight to continue on. "Piper was on _her_ bed when she got her father's text. Imagine her shock when she realized that her dad had gotten into the wrong dorm and he was there to visit. So she asked, 'Dad where are you?' Obviously her dad replied, 'On your bed, Sweetheart. Where are you?'"

I imagine her laughing for a moment before continuing on.

"So she freaked out and texted back, 'Dad, what do you mean you're on my bed? I'm on my bed!' And then her dad cursed a whole bunch and leapt out of the bed before anyone could see, but of course, at that moment, some Tristan McLean fan walks into her dorm and freaks out and thinks that her celebrity crush or something is like in love with her and is gonna marry her. So there's this big confusion that ends with up with a crying university student and a frazzled and slightly confused dad." I break into a wide grin, staring at the wall for some reason (I really don't know why). "Oh, man, I wish I was there." I glance down back at her, suddenly remembering her condition. "I wish both of us were there," I correct myself quietly.

* * *

"Hello?" I say into the receiver a few evenings later, my voice a little louder than usual, due to the windows being open to let in the cool May air. As well, the traffic outside the house is slightly louder than usual.

The person on the other end awkwardly clears their throat. "Uh, is this Mr. Frederick Chase? This is the receptionist at San Francisco General Hospital."

"Nope. One second." I lift the phone away from my face and yell into the general area of the living room, "Mr. Chase! Phone call!"

Quick footsteps sound in the hallway. Mrs. Chase appears, her black-and-red hair thrown into a messy ponytail. "Frederick isn't here," she announces breathlessly to me. "I'll take it." She reaches her hand out. "Hello, this is Mrs. Chase speaking." She pauses, then says, "I'm good, thanks. You?"

Unintelligible words come from the other end. I strain to hear, even though it isn't working.

"Mhm. Okay. Mhm. Oh, I see. Mhm. Yes. Alright. Thank you."

"What is it?" I ask after she bids the receptionist good-bye.

She takes in a deep breath before meeting my eyes. "It's Annabeth. She still isn't waking up." She closes her eyes, looking slightly defeated. "We're to see the doctor at the hospital tomorrow."

* * *

The room is silent. None of us want to be the first one to speak. I train my eyes on Annabeth's still body, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes shut tight and her breathing even, I wish, with all my heart, that this is just one terrible nightmare, and that she is just asleep and will wake up any minute.

Finally, Mr. Chase breaks the silence. "Is something wrong?" he asks the doctor.

With much difficulty, Doctor Fletcher nods once. "Yes, I'm afraid." His voice is filled with pain, as if saying the words out loud would, just like a knife, kill him. "We always knew that there was a possibility that this would happen," he starts. "That is why we monitored her so closely." He pauses, as if he is gathering himself. The brownish-blond-haired man makes eye contact with each of us standing in front of him before he speaks again. "It is with my deepest regret to tell you this: Unfortunately, Miss Annabeth Chase has fallen into a natural coma."

* * *

 **Uh … sorry? *Puts hands up* Please don't kill me. Thanks. Sorry for giving you a false hope, but that happens sometimes. I wanted it to be realistic and show what could happen, so … yeah.**

 **Also, credits to Reddit user "sourlemon13" for the Chuck Norris voting story, and the story in Percy's letter about him leaving the house for the track meet without looking at the directions actually happened to one of my classmates. It was hilarious XD**

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 **Rebal Reader: New reviewer! Lol, okay. Sorry, my friend. I'm sort of … uh, broke? Thanks! :P**

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 **-K**


	10. Nine

•Chapter 9•

 **Hiya!**

 **Thank you so much for all the reviews/favourites/follows! They really make my day!**

 **Sorry for the late update again. I've been writing ahead, but I've reached a road block, so … yeah. Sucks :( I'll try to update again next week, though :) Also, I had trouble updating because Fanfiction couldn't read my file properly or something. I don't know. It's fixed now, though :)**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2010

* * *

"So, homework is on page 475 and 476. Do all of the questions," Mr. de Milo told the class as the bell rang. "It's due tomorrow."

Gathering up my books and notebook, I walked out of my Biology 12 class. Normally, I loved Biology, but I just couldn't concentrate on it today. Everything de Milo said made no sense. I could barely remember the difference between Mitosis and Meiosis. I didn't know how big a whale's heart was. I didn't know why I was a mess today, but I strongly suspected that it had something to do with Anna—

"Perce." Nico jogged up to me, a familiar-looking pencil case in his hand. He stretched his arm to me, offering the pencil case— _my_ pencil case, now I could see—to me. "Your pencil case."

Wait. What? How did he get my pencil case? I looked down at the pile of books in my arms, and back at him again. "Wha—?"

"You left it on your desk, Perce."

"Oh. Oops." I shifted the books onto one arm and got the pencil case from Nico.

"Everything okay?" the younger DiAngelo asked me.

I shrugged. "As okay as one who is trying not to die from finishing loads of projects, tests, and studying for finals can get, I guess," I lied. "So, yeah, I'm okay."

* * *

After a boring history lecture and an insane class of physical education, it was English—the last block of the day. I flopped into my chair after Mrs. Leer gave me Annabeth's letter and closed my eyes. _Ugh_. I was so, so tired. I hadn't even started studying for exams yet, but the pressure of rushing for the finishing of last-minute projects and getting last-minute applications done was taking a toll on me. Rubbing a hand tiredly over my face, I slowly opened Annabeth's letter, yawning all the while.

Our teacher clapped her hands, drawing our attention to her. "Class," said Mrs. Leer, after we all got our letters, "another change of plans. Turns out Mrs. Kerr and I have miscalculated the dates; therefore you still will be writing a letter to them in response today. Mrs. Kerr's class will probably be the ones to write the last letter, but that is not definite right now. I'll tell you for sure next week." She smiled a little, and added, "Remember, if you want to continue keeping in touch with your penpal, you better ask now!"

 _Dear Percy,_

 _So Mrs. Kerr announced today that this will be the last letter I will write. Or the second-last. She says that she and Mrs. Leer haven't decided yet._

 _Man, if someone told me that by the end of my twelfth-grade year I'd be friends with someone I've never met, I probably ask if they were okay because I'd be all, "That's impossible! How can you be friends with someone you've never met? They could be a serial killer. They could be a 57-year-old man hiding behind a screen. Are you out of your mind?!" Guess crazy things can happen within 150 days, huh?_

 _To be honest, I was skeptical of this project at first, but I find it pretty cool now. Something about the excitement of ripping open an envelope without knowing the words behind a sheet of white, I guess._

 _Sincerely (possibly for the very last time),_

 _Annabeth Chase_

I frowned a little. I didn't want this letter project to end. I took my time writing this letter, making sure it was neat and legible.

 _Dear Annabeth,_

 _Yeah, Mrs. Leer told us that too. You'll be writing the last letter, apparently, not us. It's because we have exams in two weeks and she wants us to review for our SATs and stuff. It sucks how we get exams earlier than most schools! Gahhhhhh ..._

 _Same here! I was literally all like, "Oh my gods, this is gonna be so boring!" but I'm cool with it now. I mean, I got to meet someone all the way on the other coast and had them revel in my stunningly good looks :) Besides, I make a pretty good-looking serial killer, right?_

 _Kidding, kidding!_

 _This is really cool—seriously. This letter project opened up new doors for friendships, gave us the opportunity to meet someone we probably wouldn't ever been able to meet … ever. It even opened a door for love and soulmate-finding. Yes, I said that. And I swear, you'll never hear me say that again. That_ never _,_ ever _happened, okay?_ NEVER!

 _(But seriously though, I'm pretty sure they're "madly in love" at this point—I feel sorry for Mrs. Leer and Mrs. Kerr, being forced to read their letters to make sure it's PG-rated. Ugh. Imagine the horror!)_

 _You_ rip _my letters open? You destroy that beautiful envelope I handed you? I entrusted that thing to you! How dare you!_

 _"_ _Without knowing the words behind a sheet of white" sounded very poetic, by the way. Good job._

 _"_ _Possibly, for the very last time"? That sounds like the ending to some cheesy chick flick or something. Yes. I've watched a few of those—only because I was forced to. My friend Rachel and I were in a bet. I lost. Punishment was to watch a few chick flicks of her choice. I swear, I lost so much male pride while watching, it's been over a year and I'm still trying to gain all of it back._

 _(I'm totally not judging chick flicks, I swear. I'm just not exactly the type to watch them._ _)_

 _Still working on gaining back my pride,_

 _Percy Jackson_

After I handed my completed letter, sealed envelope and all, to Mrs. Leer, I headed back to my desk, thinking. Annabeth would be proud … I, Percy Jackson, was _thinking_ , for once!

Annabeth …

Boy, I sure was going to miss her.

Her wit, sarcasm and genius-ness (was that a word?) was something that wasn't exactly shown in any of my friends. Jason and Rachel were nerds, obviously, but it just couldn't match up to Annabeth's.

As the bell signalling the end of English class rang, I realized something with a jolt. I had forgotten to ask Annabeth whether or not she wanted to keep in touch with me even after this correspondence project was over.

Oops.

* * *

2015

* * *

A few days later, I find myself at the end of a death glare by no other than Hazel Levesque. To be honest, I'm surprised that she can handle such a stony stare. I mean, she's so sweet and tiny and everything.

"Come on," says Hazel firmly, tugging on my arm. "Let's go."

Obediently, I follow her out of the Chase house and climb into the small car, Frank at the wheel.

I plop down next to Jason, with Rachel on my other side. "Hi, Perce," they both say. Rachel smiles at me, gives me a hug as I buckle my seatbelt.

"We heard about Annabeth," she says briskly, releasing me as Frank pulls away from the curb. "Don't fret. She'll be fine."

The semi-happy mood immediately vanishes. I scowl a little, slumping down into my seat. "How can you be so sure?" I cross my arms. "She's in a _coma_. An actual one." Deciding to throw all decorum or whatever it is into the wind, I add, my voice rising, "She's in a coma, guys. This isn't some sort of tragic YA movie where the protagonist is in a coma while her boyfriend or lover or whatever decides to forget about her and goes off to save the world from the tragic and screwed-up government system which people had _no_ problem with before the start of the story. Annabeth's in a coma, guys, and I'm certainly _not_ going to pretend that everything is okay, cause it's not! My fiancée is in an actual coma and nothing, _nothing_ , I can do can bring her out of it! She might die, guys! Don't you understand? Annabeth Chase is in a coma and you expect me to not freak out and—"

"Percy, you've mentioned that Annabeth's in a coma four times in the past minute and a half," Jason interjects.

"But it's true!"

Up front, Hazel shrugs. "So?" she challenges me. "I've known her for over two-thirds of my life, and she is, by far, the most stubborn girl I've ever met. She's a fighter. If there's anyone who can go through hell and make it back, it's her. She's a fighter, Percy. She's going to beat whatever odds are thrown at her. She's going to make it."

Her words send a jolt through me. Magnus, Annabeth's cousin, had same those same words said to me months ago. _"If there's anyone who can survive going to hell and back and almost die in the process but still pull through in the end, it's her. She's stronger and more of a fighter than most people give her credit for, and she's going to beat whatever odds are thrown at her."_

I close my eyes, fighting the urge to shout back at my friend. _Deep breaths_ , I say to myself. _Breathe in, breathe out_. I stay silent for a while and suck in a breath. "I know," I say finally, and exhale.

* * *

"Here we are," Hazel cheerfully announces a while later from the shotgun seat.

I look up and see the AMC Van Ness 14 movie theatre looming in front of us. Posters saying stuff like, _Best movie this year:_ Mad Max: Fury Road _, out now!_ and Inside Out _: A Family Favorite!_ surround the parking lot. "I thought we were going to the hospital and see Annabeth …" I murmur, in a daze.

"Don't be ridiculous," Rachel chides. "Annabeth wouldn't want you to be moping around and whining all day, would she? She'd probably want you to have some fun here and just wait for her to wake up, but not _obsess_ over her unconscious state."

"But—," I start protesting.

"Yeah, yeah, we know." Jason unlocks the car door and hops out. "We told you we'd visit her today. And we _will_. Just not right now. Right now, we'll watch a movie, and enjoy it, okay?"

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

Four heads shake simultaneously. "Jackson, it's for your own good," says Frank. Hazel, who's beside him, nods in agreement.

I groan and rub my face. "I'm not so sure about that," I mumble.

All four of them pointedly ignore me and turn to look at the theatre listings mounted on the wall.

"What movie should we watch right now?" Hazel muses, glancing at the theatre listings mounted on the wall.

Jason suggests watching some movie called _Room_ , which stars Brie Lawson and Jacob Tremblay. "I heard it's really good."

Rachel, who's beside him, lets out a half-hearted "Mhmm."

"Where's Piper?" I blurt out suddenly.

"Oh, so _now_ you notice my missing girlfriend?" Jason pretends to act hurt. "She's going to be heartbroken once I tell her that she's been forgotten by you already." He drops his act and explains, "She's studying for her last final. She's gonna fly out here with her dad tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow at the latest."

"Overmorrow."

Jason turns to stare at Rachel for her weirdly-timed outburst. So do I. "What?" I ask.

"Overmorrow," Rachel repeats. "That's the correct term for the day after tomorrow."

"Okay, Nerd," Jason answers. "Thanks for the literature lesson."

In response, Rachel sticks her tongue out at Jason like a five-year old. I laugh. "Very mature."

"Oh, come on. Like you don't do that too," she says.

"Yeah. I totally don't." To prove my point, I stick my tongue out at her.

"Hey, can I borrow your sweater?" I faintly hear Hazel ask her boyfriend in the background. "I wasn't expecting it to be this cold today."

Frank lets out a chuckle. "After almost thirteen years of living in San Francisco, and you still can't figure out San Fran weather? Interesting." Nevertheless, out of the corner of my eye, I see the Human Teddy Bear (don't ask about his nickname—it's a really long story) remove his sweater and hand it to the twenty-two-year-old, who accepts it gratefully.

I smile a little, watching them, despite the Annabeth-sized hole in my heart. They—

"We're watching _Room_!" Rachel suddenly yells to the duo on my far right. Also into my ear. I wince, clapping a hand over it. She cups her hands around her mouth and adds, "And you're getting the popcorn!"

"Gods," I mutter, rubbing my ear. "I totally wanted you to yell in my ear."

Rachel apologizes, though I have a sneaking suspicion that she wasn't all that sorry. (Oh, well. What are friends for, right?) Meanwhile, Jason Grace practically runs up to the counter to purchase five tickets. Who knew that a blonde Superman would be a sucker for drama movies (or whatever genre that is)?

* * *

We all surround my fiancée's hospital bed later that afternoon. Seeing her still figure brings a rush of guilt. How could I be having fun, laughing and joking, while this blonde young woman—the love of my life—was fighting for her life?

I start to turn away, but Rachel puts a hand on my arm. "Don't." She takes in my expression, immediately—and correctly—guessing what I'm wracking myself over. "Don't feel guilty for hanging out with us. Don't feel guilty for wishing you never went with us to the movies. And _don't_ , heaven forbid, feel guilty for enjoying your afternoon. What would she say if she were here? 'Oh, yeah, I'm in a coma and I can't get out of it, so I want you to feel the same as me—trapped and in darkness'? Do you honestly think that Annabeth would want you to be like this, Percy? To be this …"—she stepped back, and gestured, palm up and flat, from my head to my feet—"this person who can only think of moping around, the life gone from his eyes?"

I don't answer, and instead, run a hand through my hair for what feels like the millionth time this week. For the second time today, my friends had correctly corrected me about someone—someone whom I thought I knew best.

* * *

 **Yes, I am fully aware that _Room_ was released in September, and that this chapter's second half takes place in May. Even though I've never watched it, I just really wanted to include this film, so … yeah. I'm planning to watch it soon, though :)**

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	11. Ten

•Chapter 10•

 **Hi!**

 **Guess what? I actually kept my promise and updated when I said I would! Yaaay!**

 **Thank you for all the reviews/favourites/follows! :)**

 **Please note that this chapter mentions stereotypes and religion. I do not agree with any of the stereotypes written, and I only chose the religion I did because that's what I know most about, if that makes sense.** **Please keep in mind, as you read this, that I am not bashing religion; I am simply writing what I think would closely resemble the thoughts of these characters.**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2010

* * *

Annabeth's last letter came. I hesitated to open it; it would be the last letter I'd maybe ever get from my penpal … friend.

Carefully pulling the flap of the envelope away from the body of it, I tried as best as I could to not rip it, or not get impatient and rip it.

(It may sound very easy on paper, but believe me, it was _hard_.)

I remembered Mrs. Leer's words before she handed us our envelopes. "Change of plans, class. As it turns out, they'll be writing their last letter to you—that's this one. Their email addresses will be included in this letter if you didn't ask them last week, and the decision of whether or not you would like to keep in touch will ultimately be up to you."

Annabeth's last letter to me.

I slowly pulled the sheet of paper out of the envelope, relishing that clean, neat handwriting that was so utterly _Annabeth_.

 _Dear Percy,_

 _Actually, that's where you're wrong. It just means that you have fewer Pro-D Days during the school year and a longer summer break! I'd very much rather have that layout than the one I currently have. It also means I can get my exams over with sooner. (Yes, you read that right. Hey, don't be surprised. Typical nerd, huh?)_

 _Not sure if Mrs. Leer told you, but Mrs. Kerr told us that we are allowed to exchange email addresses if we still want to keep in touch after this project is over. If you don't mind, can do that? Talking to you is surprisingly easy, and on some days, reading your sarcastic replies or hilarious stories is all I need to improve my day. (And I get to figure out ways of how I'd do things differently, or what I'd do to make it more effective.)_

 _My email address is on the bottom of this letter, if you also want to keep in touch. If I don't get a reply a month from now, I'll just assume that you refused my offer._

 _Got it?_

 _Good._

 _Yeah … if those two_ star-crossed lovers _were classmates/lived in the same city as each other, I'm pretty sure they'd be sucking each other's faces off right now._

 _"_ _You destroy that beautiful envelope I handed you? I entrusted that thing to you! How dare you!" And I thought Drew was dramatic. Gosh. *Shakes head*_

 _I'm not the biggest fan of chick flicks, but if my friends want to watch them, I go with them … but only if they agree to buy me a book of my choice in return. Hey, it's a good opportunity to get free stuff! The plots are really typical and cheesy, which is mainly why I hate them. AND THE DIALOGUE! Please don't get me started. It'll probably take up a page and a half and I_ really _don't want my hand to cramp up today. Or any day, for that matter._

 _Bye … for now, at least._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Annabeth Chase_

I smiled a bit. "Bye, Chase."

* * *

Three weeks later, I had completed my exams. Exam week had finally passed. Until the moment the exam results came into the mail, I'd live in oblivion and believe that I'd done well and everything was okay.

(Even though I was pretty sure I'd flopped a few essay questions … and _maybe_ an exam. Hey, studying for exams and sitting through them were definitely _not_ my strong suit, okay?)

But overall, I was pretty sure I'd gotten at least a 75 on most exams—except math, maybe.

The moment the bell had rung, signalling that I was allowed to leave the gymnasium, I tore out of there, eager to not see this high school until my graduation ceremony. "Twelfth grade is finally over!" I had yelled, Frank and Nico at my heels, and flopped down on the grass.

"We ought to have a party," Piper had suggested. For some reason, she loved planning parties. "Think your apartment could hold seven of us? Or maybe more?"

"Mm." To be honest, I wasn't really paying attention to her words at that point.

"Great!" She had clapped her hands excitedly, already pulling out her phone and making plans. "Let's see, so if, say, ten of us are coming, that means I'll need to make thirty or so sandwiches … maybe three kinds of them … so …."

That's how I found myself in my living room, three days later, soda in my hand, surrounded by my friends. Katy Perry's _Teenage Dream_ blared from the speaker Rachel had brought. "Yo, Perce, isn't this party great?" asked Frank, coming over to me. He took a sip of his drink before continuing. "Never had this pop flavour in Vancouver before."

I glanced at him. " _Soda_. It's _soda_. Dude, you're not in Vancouver anymore. Ditch your Canadian lingo, Zhang."

He rolled his eyes, muttering, "Yeah, sure, whatever."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Reyna get up from her spot by the counter and head for the door. "Just a second," I told my friend in a low voice. "Save my seat." I left Frank and made a beeline for Reyna. "Hey," I greeted her. "Where you going?" Noticing how weird and accusing that sounded, I hurried on, saying, "Uh, not that I mean anything bad or anything. Like, I barely know you, even, but I was just wondering, because …"

I had stopped, noting her strange look directed at none other than—yup, you guessed it—yours truly. "I was going out for some fresh air," she finally said. Her voice had a tint of a Spanish accent (I think). "It was getting too hot and stuffy in here."

"I'll come with you. I mean, I don't know you that well, and I'd like to get, you know, acquainted."

She looked at me again. "Suit yourself," she said simply.

"Ah, one second. I'll go tell Frank." I darted to his side. "Hey, I'm going on a walk with Reyna. I might text you later if we end up too far away or something. You're gonna have to be the host, if that happens. You got your phone?"

He nodded and gave his pocket a pat, a smirk on his face. "Have fun."

Rolling my eyes, I slapped him upside the head, joined Reyna, and left the apartment.

* * *

The moment we stepped out of the building, Reyna let out a content sigh.

"You like being outside?" I asked.

She closed her eyes and nodded. "Yeah." She sighed again. "Reminds me a bit of home."

"If you don't mind me asking, where are you from? Your accent, it's something sort of Hispanic, but it isn't really …"

She didn't answer me immediately. "Puerto Rico." Lowering her voice, she added, "Please don't tell anyone of this. In my last school, I was bullied because, to them, Puerto Rico was a filthy place with streets teeming with thieves, poor people, drug addicts, and selfish, greedy men. It's all stereotypes, of course, but that's what seems to stick. The stereotypes."

I nodded. "I understand." And, as an afterthought, "I won't tell."

* * *

2015

* * *

When I said that I'd do anything for her, I meant it.

My fiancée is in a natural coma. I've never felt so helpless in my life. Even if Hazel was right about her being a fighter, I couldn't help but feel guilt. If I could run over there and knock her out of the way, or made my voice work in time to shout for her to duck, if, if, if …

 _Thinking "if" won't change anything_ , Annabeth's voice rings in my head. _The past has already happened. Nothing you can do can change it. Percy, focus on the present instead._

That was what she said when I told her about my father's death five years ago.

I shake my head, and interlace our fingers together. Bringing our clasped hands closer to my lips, I place a gentle kiss on her knuckles and return her hands to where it was before—on her stomach. I let out a sigh, and trail a finger along her right cheekbone down to her jaw. Letting my finger fall away from her still form, I sigh and leave her side, shutting the door quietly behind me.

 _Beep._

 _Beep._

 _Beep._

* * *

I stand in front of a church, looking up at the sign on the roof, directly over the door. (I'm not being biased or whatever by choosing one religion over another; I simply chose this church because it's the closest to the hospital.) "City View Church," it says. _All are welcome!_ a sign next to the door reads. A crowd of teenagers and people my age stream into the doors, talking and laughing. I am unsure of what to do. I've never been into a church before, save for the time my father's body was found and I went to his funeral.

I feel so out of place here, and so, so uncomfortable. This is absolutely, without a doubt, outside my comfort zone.

But if it means asking people to pray for my girlfriend's recovery, I'll do it.

Screw the uncomfortableness. My girlfriend is more important than feeling awkward.

There was this girl from my high school, Miranda, who'd always pray for people—regardless of their religion. When I'd asked her about it, she'd answered, "It doesn't matter. Prayer heals everyone, prayer helps everyone. You want me to pray for you?" (I had declined.)

I consider asking one of the people walking in, but I don't know how to approach them and ask. Imagine how weird it'd be if some random stranger walked up to you and said, "Hi there! Can you show me around? I've never been here before and you look like a nice person so I'm asking you! Hope it isn't too awkward! Or weird!"

Yeah. That'd be really weird.

I step into the lobby of the church. A Hispanic man, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, stands near the doors, talking animatedly into his cell phone. I approach him once he hangs up. "Um, excuse me?"

He turns and faces me. "Yes?" asks the man, smiling.

"Uh, it's my first time here …" I stop, unsure of what to say next.

His smile grows. "Well, in that case, welcome, young man. I assume you are not sure what to do, or go?"

I shrug. "I guess?" I scratch the back of my neck, and say, all in a big rush, "My fiancée has fallen into a natural coma, because she was shot a while ago while we were fighting overseas, and since she was losing so much blood, the doctors decided to put her into an artificial coma, but it turned into a real coma …" I sigh. "I hope that made sense."

"I see. It made sense to me. Well, as today isn't Sunday, there isn't any service"—my eyebrows shoot up. I always thought there was service every day or something—"but today, there are youth groups, and a prayer meeting. Yes," he adds, noting my expression, "we don't have service every day."

"What do you do in youth groups?"

"Well, it depends. Sometimes, it's fun things, like movie or game night. There are discussions about topics like social issues on some nights, and other nights are usually centred around sermons or worship. Tonight, I believe, is a sermon."

My face pales at that. I'm still no good at sitting still.

"If you're worried about sitting through a sermon, I suggest you go to the prayer meeting," continues the man. "Or, if you want, you can just write down a prayer request and give it to the group. They'll pray for your fiancée."

I smile a little at that. "Yeah, sounds good."

* * *

Two weeks later, when I visit her, she is lying on her white hospital bed, same as always, but this time, she has a fancy braid … a French braid (is that what you call it?) in her hair. Or a Dutch braid, maybe? One of those fancy braids you often see at casual _and_ formal events. Obviously, one of the nurses did it for her. (Mrs. Chase never liked fancy braids, and the boys and Mr. Chase had no clue how. Besides, I'm the first one to come visit her today.) "Hi, Annabeth." I approach her bed, and enclose my larger hand around her smaller one. I tell her about how yesterday went, how Jason, Frank, and Piper, this time dragged me away from the Chases' home (again) and forced me to do something "productive," which, in their case, meant to go to the beach.

It had helped, I admit to Annabeth. "I don't know why," I add, "but it did. Same for when Rachel, Hazel, Jason, and Frank kidnapped me to go to the movies. It made me feel better—that is, until I saw you again and remembered that you are fighting for your life."

Annabeth's infamous glare pops into my mind. _Really, Seaweed Brain_? I picture her saying. _I'm not a baby. I'll be fine. Go live a little. You're in San Fran. Explore the area. You haven't done that yet. There's so much to see!_

"…Sorry?"

I lift my face up and watch the heart monitor for a while.

The line goes up, hits the peak, goes down, hits the bottom, and goes up again. It's just bouncing a rubber ball and catching it. Toss, catch, bounce, catch. Toss, catch, bounce, catch.

 _Beep._

Toss.

 _Beep._

Catch.

 _Beep._

Bounce. I drop my head and stare at the tiled floor.

 _Beep._

Catch.

 _Beep._

Toss.

 _Beep_.

Catch.

 _Beeeeeeeeeep_.

My head jerks up. The ball was never caught. It slips through the cracks of my fingers. The line plummets down, down, down.

So does my heart.

* * *

 **Yup. Another cliffie. A major one this time, too. Bet you're right on the edge, huh? *wink wink* I suck at puns, so I'm pretty proud of this one XD … OKAY OKAY OKAY YES I KNOW THIS IS SERIOUS AND HEART-WRENCHING. I'M SORRY OKAY?!**

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 **-K**


	12. Eleven

•Chapter 11•

 **Hey guys!**

 **Well … it seems like I might've accidentally shattered a lot of hearts in my last chapter. Oops?**

 **Sorry I left you on that horrible cliffhanger and disappeared for like a whole month. I went to the States for a while in the summer and I had zero wifi (I was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, lol), and after I came back, school started, and with that came the piles and piles of homework. (Yay high school.)**

 **Thank you all so much for the reviews, favourites, and follows! I GOT SO MANY REVIEWS AHHHHHHHH! :)**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2010

* * *

"So now that high school is over, what do you think of doing?" asked Reyna, fiddling with her long, thick braid.

I turned to face her. "What do you mean?"

"Well, what are your plans for the future?"

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "My father was a marine biologist, as was his father before him, but I … I don't know. Being marine biologists has been a family profession for many generations, and I don't really want to fall into that, you know what I mean?" I brushed a lock of hair from my eyes before continuing. "I like to help people, too. I'm not too good at school though, so I don't really think university's the right thing for me. Really, with my dyslexia and ADHD, it's a miracle I passed all my classes. I mean, I _think_ I did."

She smiled at me. "I'm sure you did fine. But you said you had, ah, dyslexia and ADHD?"

"Well, um, yes, but I'm not bringing that up at as excuse," I said quickly, stumbling over my words.

"Mhm."

We lapsed into silence for a while as we walked around the block.

When Reyna and I approached the front door of my building, she turned to me. "You know, I just thought of something. You said you like helping people, yes?" She didn't wait for me to nod before she continued. "My older sister, Hylla, is in the US Army. Because we've been in the United States of America for over eight years, she and I are legally American citizens because we've both been naturalized, which is why she's allowed in the US Army. And you said you like biology, and helping people. I don't know what kind of help you meant, but maybe the Marine Corps would be something that could potentially be your future career."

I shrugged, opening the building door with my remote. "It never crossed my mind before," I admitted. We stepped into the lush interior of the apartment and headed for the elevators. "I don't really know if it's my thing, if you get what I mean."

"I understand." She smiled again. "Just think about it."

* * *

I read Annabeth's letter again. "So, it's 'annabeth underscore chase at gmail dot com,'" I muttered under my breath, folding the letter. "Okay, here goes nothing."

 _From:_ _ **Percy Jackson**_ _percylovesbluecoke_ at _gmail . com_

 _To: Annabeth Chase annabeth_chase_ at _gmail . com_

 _Date: 12 June 2010 at 16:06_

 _Subject: [no subject]_

 _Hey, is this Annabeth Chase? The girl from that school in San Francisco? (I totally forgot the name of the school lol … sorry.) It's Percy, your penpal. Or have you forgotten about me already? :D_

Finger poised over the mouse pad, I looked over my message again. Seemed simple enough, and if it landed in the wrong hands, it wouldn't be _too_ weird … I hoped. "Please please please tell me I copied the address right." Muttering a "good luck" to myself under my breath, I hit SEND.

* * *

A few hours later, I received her email. "Yes!" I exclaimed, punching the air. I eagerly opened her email, curious to see what she wrote back to me. (Only too bad it wasn't written in that weird handwriting of hers—they always made whatever she was writing about a hundred times more interesting.)

 _From:_ _ **Annabeth Chase**_ _annabeth_chase_ at _gmail . com_

 _To: Percy Jackson_ _percylovesbluecoke_ at _gmail . com_

 _Date: 12 June 2010 at 21:43_

 _Subject: Re:_

 _Hi, Percy. Cool. You accepted my offer—even though your email was sort of weird. If you sent that to some random stranger accidentally and they replied with "yes," you'd talk to them not knowing it wasn't me._

 _Now that I've made you paranoid that I am some random creepy stalker, I'll let you know that you told me a few weeks ago that you won gold in your racing tournament on your horse Blackjack. (Which, as I've said before, is a really cool name.)_

 _Dude, when you said that your favorite color was blue, I didn't expect it to go_ this _far. I can't believe you actually implemented that into your email._

 _Your obsession worries me a little._

I laughed when I read that last line. "Oh, Annabeth, you don't even know the worst of it."

* * *

"You know, Perce, we've been thinking about going to some waterpark or something for a day or two. Ya know, to beat heat," Rachel said a few weeks later to me, sitting on the end of my bed, twirling her shoelaces around her fingers.

"Which one?"

She shrugged. "We haven't decided yet. You in?"

"Not sure. Maybe."

She pouted a little. "Aw, Perce. C'mon, it'll be fun!"

"Wait, who's going?" I asked.

"Jason, me, Piper, Leo, Frank, Reyna." She ticked each name off her fingers. "And maybe Nico and you," she added as an afterthought.

"Oh."

We lapsed into a comfortable silence. I closed my eyes and leaned back onto the pillows. This felt incredibly familiar. Since Rachel only lived less than two minutes away from me, we'd always go to each other's houses and do nothing but talk or sleep. Or steal each other's food when we were running low. Or do incredibly random things such as baking pear-shaped cookies. (Hey, my mom's a baker and she had the weirdest cookie cutters.) "Okay, can I just … randomly ask something?" asked Rachel after a while.

"Sure. Shoot."

She shifted in her seat. "It's just …"

I looked over at her. "Yeah?"

She bit her lip and looked away, not answering me. "I've been wondering about this for quite some time now," she said finally. "Like, wouldn't it be great to have someone you could love unconditionally? Not friend-to-friend love, or parent-to-child love, but romantic love. Girlfriend-and-boyfriend love. Spousal love, even." All this she said in one breath. Her eyes were wide. "Is it wrong to feel jealous, seeing couples everywhere, knowing, at the end of the day, that they're loved? Not just by their parents or siblings, either. Like someone who isn't your family or friends loves you."

I could tell where she was going with this. "You're thinking about Jason and Piper, aren't you? And Leo and Calypso? Because your parents never really were there for you went you were younger?"

"Yeah." Then, she blurted out, "Don't you wish you had someone like that?"

"Yeah." Immediately as I said that, a name and a face and a smile popped into my mind. As soon as it came, it disappeared. Louder, I repeated, "Yeah, I do."

"You do? she echoed, her tone one of wonder and ... amazement?

I nodded.

I didn't tell her about who I thought of.

She didn't need to know.

* * *

2015

* * *

The whole room is in chaos. Doctors and nurses are rushing in and out of the room, checking her pulse, bringing in the defibrillator, yelling commands at their assistants. All I can do is prop myself up in a corner of the room, watching numbly as stream after stream of people rush in and out of room _3579_ as they try to save Annabeth.

"Sir," says one of the nurses to me, "we need you to step out of the room while we try to revive Ms. Chase."

I nod, not arguing. "Please save my fiancée," I whisper, more to myself than him.

His expression is grave. "We will do our best."

* * *

I sit in the waiting room, head in my hands, when Annabeth's parents and brothers come rushing in. "We heard," Mrs. Chase tells me, panting. "We got the call and immediately came here. What happened?"

Shaking my head, I say, "It's not good. I was with her this morning, talking to her, when suddenly her heart monitor went"—I make a downwards motion with my hand, like someone sledding down a hill, stop halfway, and move it horizontally, as if they reached the end of the hill—"and, well, yeah. I think her heart stopped. One of the nurses told me they were going to try to revive Annabeth." Placing my hands on my forehead so they won't see the tears pooling in my eyes, I tell them how, just days earlier, I felt her finger move, and let myself believe that she was going to wake up.

Mrs. Chase lays a hand on my shoulder. "Oh, Honey, it's going to be all right." Her voice chokes up. "She's going to make it. I didn't raise her to become a quitter, you know." I can hear the faint smile in her voice.

"Percy! Percy!" Piper and Jason sprint into the room and stop at my side, kneeling on the floor. "I'm so sorry," Piper whispers. "You really thought she was going to wake up, didn't you?"

I nod a little. "All of us did."

Just then, Doctor Fletcher strides into the room. "Mr. and Mrs. Chase?"

Annabeth's parents quickly stand up. "Here," says her father.

"I have good news and bad news. Good news is, Annabeth has been successfully revived and her heartbeat and breathing rate are both normal and steady." He pauses as we all breathe a sigh of relief. Well, almost everyone. Mrs. Chase and I stay quiet, awaiting the bad news. "Bad news is, her condition is currently quite unstable, and will be moved to the ICU."

"Um … Doctor Fletcher?" Piper pipes up. "The ICU only allows family to visit, correct?"

He nods.

"How about her fiancé?"

I quickly shoot a look at my Cherokee friend. I didn't expect her to ask for me. _Thank you_ , I mouth to her. She returns with a tight-lipped smile and turns back to Doctor Fletcher for his answer.

He shakes his head. "He's not allowed. It's strictly family only. I'm sorry."

* * *

A few weeks pass. Annabeth is still in the ICU. I sit on the bed in what used to be Annabeth's bedroom, and rifle through an old album of pictures and videos stored on my computer. From random and hilarious text messages to the strangest of birthday videos, everything that Annabeth had sent to me over the years that was funny or heartwarming or … anything, really, of semi- to great importance, I kept. I couldn't keep everything, of course. That'd just clutter up my computer.

I point my mouse to click on a video of Annabeth trying to speak in a Christmas video she was planning to send to me while her cat kept climbing onto her and putting her paws on my fiancée's mouth, thus rendering her unable to speak.

 _(Oh, wow. I just used the word "rendering." Annabeth, you proud of me?)_

Her cat was hilarious. It was just too unfortunate that her cat died a year ago.

I cross over to my desk to retrieve my earbuds and proceed to pop then into the earphone jack. As the video loads, I, for some reason unbeknownst to me, grab her favourite sweater and wrap it around me. I can still smell the perfume she loved to wear lingering on it, and, instantly, a rush of nostalgia and longing fills me again. "Please come home," I whisper, and, unwrapping it around my neck, place it where I found it.

"Percy." Mrs. Chase knocks on my door. "Open up!"

Reluctantly, I do so. "Hi," I say. "What's up?" Probably not the best thing to say to your future mother-in-law, but sleep deprivation causes people to do weird things.

I am no exception.

Annabeth's mother stands opposite of me, jacket hanging on her arm, her eyes bright. (I don't think she even processed what I said to her ten seconds ago.) "The hospital just called."

I eye her warily, not wanting my hopes to be crushed again. "And …?"

"And they said that Annabeth's going to be moved out of ICU tomorrow!" exclaimed she, excited. "You'll finally be able to see her again!" She looks up at me as she puts on her pink windbreaker.

I manage to crack a smile. "Yeah." Then, louder, "Yeah. That's awesome."

"Would you like me to drive you there tomorrow on my way to work?"

I smile again, a genuine, easy one this time. "Yeah. That'd be great," I tell her. "Thanks."

* * *

If this was a fairytale, I'd say that because comatose-Annabeth missed me so much in our weeks apart, the moment I walked into her hospital room at San Francisco General Hospital and sat next to her bed and kissed her, her eyes flew open, woke up from her now-natural coma (and escaped death weeks earlier), jumped into my arms, and we all lived happily ever after, due to my somehow magical kiss that broke the evil witch's spell.

But that is not the case. There is no fairytale story, no magical kiss, no evil witch—wait, I take that back. There is: the coma itself, which is perhaps keeping Annabeth alive, is also killing her. The worst paradox of all, perhaps. The coma happened because it needed to heal Annabeth, which will probably save her, but if she remains in her coma for too long because her body have been too damaged, the greater the chance that she'll never be able to wake up, and her family and I will be forced to agreed to take her off life-support.

That thought alone is much too bearable to imagine.

* * *

 **Yah … so sad *cries***

 **I made a promise to myself that I'll try to sleep for at least eight hours, and I'm cutting it _pretty_ close right now, so I'll just get on with the reviews:**

 **Average Canadian: Haha! "Nopiest nope to nope." XD Love this. Sorry for breaking your heart … :( Thanks though! :P**

 **Cheorkee rememberer gamer98: New reviewer! Hope I got your username right :P Um … sorry, and I'll probably sound stupid for saying this, but I actually don't understand slang and stuff. Like the everyday, normal things, but after GG and Welp and stuff, I sort of get … lost? (Yup, embarrassing, I know.) Still confused, but … thanks? XD**

 **WhyNotWriteFanfiction: Aw, it's okay. *pat pat* It'll get better … maybe ;) Thanks!**

 **ShootingStarMuffin: *covers ears* OWWWWWW OKAY OKAY OKAY I GET YOUR POINT OW MY EARS! XD Thanks!**

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 **Liz (Guest): Yay, another _Star Wars_ fan! Thanks!**

 **Rue (Guest): New reviewer! OW MY EARS! Yes, I get the idea … Thanks!**

 **LuvPercabeth (Guest): (Chapters 10 and 11): New reviewer! Ha XD "WTFluff." Sorry, it had to happen. I hate them too! (YET I DO THEM A LOT! :P) You'll see in this chapter if she's dead :) As for Leo, his absence will be explained in the next few chapters.**

 **writingmermaid: SORRY GIRLIE! I wanted it to be realistic. Please don't be mad *hides behind Festus* Haha "Great chapter. Except the end. No." XDDDDD Thanks!**

 **Don't forget to follow, favourite, and/or review!**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-K**


	13. Twelve

•Chapter 12•

 **Hi!**

 **So sorry that it's been a month since I uploaded :( I did an exam a while back, one that I worked really hard for, and if I passed, it could change the art part of my life drastically. (I sing, play the piano and clarinet, and do theatre acting, so yeah.) But I didn't make it, and it was a pretty major setback. I literally _failed_ it. I knew some parts still needed improvement, so I knew I wouldn't get as high as I normally did, but I didn't expect to freaking _fail_. I was really upset, and I couldn't write for quite a while. Hope you guys understand. I'm trying to be okay with it, but it's hard. :( Please don't be mad at me for being this late, but I definitely understand if you do.**

 **Thanks for all the favourites/follows/reviews!**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2010

* * *

The email exchanges between Annabeth and me became more and more frequent. Thanks to both of us having Gmail accounts (and for Gmail to include chats), Annabeth and I were able to have an actual conversation when we were both on without needing to wait for their reply. (Not that I hated emailing or anything.) We still emailed; but chatted more frequently.

I learned more about her than I'd ever had, and she learned more about me than she'd ever had.

Though I was hoping that our friendship would extend beyond emailing (and, at first, penpal letters), I didn't dare hope.

That is, until she asked me over email one day if I had Skype, since she wanted to meet me … in person. Well, as in person as she could. And not to mention see the blindingly handsome face that belonged to yours truly. (Okay, maybe I made that up. But still, she, Miss Annabeth Chase, wanted to meet me!)

Actually, all she said was that she wanted to talk to me, face to face, and she was curious as to what my voice sounded like.

Obviously, I told her I did. As nonchalantly as I could, might I add.

 _From:_ _ **Percy Jackson**_ _percylovesbluecoke_

 _To: Annabeth Chase annabeth_chase_ at _gmail . com_

 _Date: 26 July 2010 at 13:06_ at _gmail . com_

 _Subject: [no subject]_

 _Sure. Yeah, I have Skype. I don't use it much and I'll have to download it on my phone though. It's P_J_818. I think._

Her reply came a little over two hours later.

 _From:_ _ **Annabeth Chase**_ _annabeth_chase_ at _gmail . com_

 _To: Percy Jackson percylovesbluecoke_ at _gmail . com_

 _Date: 26 July 2010 at 15:33_

 _Subject: Re:_

 _Cool! I'll add you; I'm AnnabethChase92. If you don't see my request by tomorrow, send me one, okay? I might forget._

I snorted at that. Annabeth? _Forget?_ If that was the case, then I'd be the freaking President of the United States. I told her so.

 _From:_ _ **Percy Jackson**_ _percylovesbluecoke_ at _gmail . com_

 _To: Annabeth Chase annabeth_chase_ at _gmail . com_

 _Date: 26 July 2010 at 15:50_

 _Subject: [no subject]_

 _Wow. "AnnabethChase92." People_ totally _won't be able to guess your first name, last name, and birth year!_

 _HA. "I might forget." You're being ridiculous. I mean, come on! Everyone knows you have the memory of an elephant. If_ you _forget, I'm the President of the United States. But sure, okay. I'll send you one._

Needless to say, my blonde-haired friend wasn't too pleased about my reply. But the upside was, _Annabeth_ typed an _emoticon_.

 _From:_ _ **Annabeth Chase**_ _annabeth_chase_ at _gmail . com_

 _To: Percy Jackson percylovesbluecoke_ at _gmail . com_

 _Date: 26 July 2010 at 15:51_

 _Subject: Re:_

 _-_- Thanks a lot, Percy._

I smirked when I read that. "And you're very welcome," I said, kicking back into my seat and folded my hands behind my head.

* * *

"C'mon!"

Leo and Reyna stood on the WELCOME HOME mat outside my front door. "You're going to be late, Perce!" Leo shouted.

"And don't forget your sunscreen and towel," added Reyna. "That's the most important thing."

I dashed around the apartment, grabbing things and throwing them into my backpack. Mentally, I ran through the checklist in my head. _Swimsuit, towel, sunscreen, sunglasses, flip-flops, cash, soda …_

"All check," I announced proudly. Then it came to me. _Soda_. "SODA!" I cursed out loud. "I forgot to bring soda! I don't have any here!" I cursed again. "Ugh!" I pulled my hair, pacing around. "I'm so stupid!"

"Calm down!" Reyna poked her head inside. "We brought some already. If you're all set, let's go!"

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Alright, alright, I'm coming." I appeared in the front hall and closed the door behind me. "Just give me one minute." Pulling out my keys and dangling them in their faces, I told them, "Gotta lock the door, you know."

I turned back around after the key slid out, and Leo shouted, "FINALLY! Time to hit the water, baby!"

Rolling her eyes, Reyna hauled Leo and me into the elevator. "Let's _go_."

* * *

Thanks to Rachel and her incredibly smart brain (no offense to Jason) and foresight, we had enough soda to last through ten rounds of Never Have I Ever. Incredibly corny and cliché game, but whatever. It wasn't my idea, anyway.

The beach was pretty packed that day, but we managed to find a spot less crowded.

Things took off quite interestingly from the start.

It was Jason's turn. "Okay," Jason said, rolling his can of soda between his hands thoughtfully. "My turn. Never have I ever … accidentally stolen something from a store."

No one took a sip. We all looked around, waiting for someone to raise their can. Then, finally, finally, one person did.

Me.

"You?!" Nico exclaimed. "Seriously?!"

"Really, if anything, I thought it would've been Leo. Or Piper."

Rachel nodded enthusiastically, agreeing to Frank's words.

Then the questions came flooding in.

"What did you steal?"

"It was an accident, right?"

"When was that?"

"Was it a dare?"

I held up my hands. "Woah, hang on," I protested. "Jason said _accidentally_. It was completely an accident. I think."

"You _think_?!" Jason burst out. "Perce, you either do or you don't."

This brought in another flood of questions, until Rachel yelled, "Perseus Jackson, how did that even happen?!"

Everyone stopped and stared at her. Including passers-by and maybe a few seagulls. (Yes, that's how loud she was. I could swear one dog who was peacefully crapping spewed its crap all over its owner's face at the sound of Red's voice.) Then they looked at me.

I threw my hands up. "It just happened, okay?" I took a deep breath and started explaining. "I was, like, seven or so, and it was hot, so I wanted a Slurpee from 7-Eleven. My mom was there with me. I went in, got a cherry flavour, and then my mom somehow forgot to pay, and walked out of the store. _No one_ stopped us. I don't think anyone even saw us."

"That's it?" Frank asked me. He sounded a bit disappointed.

I tapped my chin, thinking. "Oh, wait!" I sat up straighter. "I remember something else. I sort of tripped on the sidewalk when I was leaving and promptly dumped my red Slurpee on this little girl's head. She looked around my age, and her hair was a really light colour or something. I can't remember, 'cause I couldn't get a second look—I mean, there already was red Slurpee dripping down her head at that point. Then she gave me a really scary—to me, at least—glare and I felt bad and scared and started crying.

"The end," I finished.

Piper, who was beside me, burst out laughing. "That's absolutely hilarious." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

I faked a sob, placing a hand on my heart. "I'm so hurt, Piper dear. The first thing you do after hearing my tragic past is _laugh_?!" Then, to my cousin, who was on his girlfriend's other side, I said, "Please tell your girlfriend to apologize."

He did as I asked. "Piper, apologize," he told her, his tone in mock seriousness.

Rolling her eyes, Piper relented. "Fine, fine. _Sorry_." Then, she whispered, so quickly I almost didn't catch it, "How's that girlfriend of yours doing?"

 _What?_ I stared at her, mouth open. "I don't have one," I returned, just as quickly and quietly.

She raised her eyebrow, skeptical. "Sure you don't. Remember Annabeth Chase?"

I shook my head, telling her, "Not my girlfriend. Don't even like her that way."

"Sure." She winked at me. "Whatever you want to say."

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide my smile.

It was days like this that I loved—and missed—the most.

* * *

2015

* * *

"She's not waking up!" I yell at my door. "Don't you understand? Annabeth's probably never going to wake up!"

"Percy …" Piper says tiredly on the other side. "Just please, let me in."

I heave a sigh and reluctantly agree. "There," I say after I open the door. "I opened the door. You can come in. Happy?"

She doesn't answer and just barreled through the doorway. "Oh, Percy." She comes over and holds her arms out, inviting me to a hug. "Come here, you," says my cousin-in-law.

Yes, cousin-in-law. She and Jason had gotten married last week. They were reluctant to do so, Jason told me, but they didn't really want to postpone the wedding, because changing the dates would greatly affect the guest list and catering company. They said I could come if I wanted to.

I didn't, so I declined. (They understood.)

However, as a compensation, they had their wedding banquet around Annabeth's room, with only Piper and Jason's—now Mr. and Mrs. Grace—few close friends attending.

I accept now, and rush into her open arms.

"There, there," she says softly, stroking my hair. Ordinarily, I would've found it funny how someone younger than me was acting older than me—like a parent or aunt. But now, I'm too devastated to care.

I open my mouth to speak. "Anna—"

"—beth is going to be alright," finishes Piper. "Really, Perce, you ought to have more faith in your fiancée."

Chastened by her reprimanding, I close my mouth and force back a reply, only nodding slowly.

"Jason's out for the day with Thalia, and Leo's coming soon. You know, back from the three-month convention in Calgary, Canada. Hazel's gone to visit her father and Frank's gone back home for a bit. Rachel, too. So it's just you and me, kid."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, I find myself in my kitchen wearing an apron and cracking some eggs into a bowl. Piper's beside me, measuring the flour and looking for cookie cutters.

Piper looks over my shoulder, watching my progress. "Perseus Jackson, your mother is a _baker_ and you're telling me you don't know how to crack eggs properly?!"

I glance at her meekly. "Um ... no?"

Piper stares at the ceiling. "Mrs. Jackson, why?!" she yells. "You run a well-known bakery shop and your oldest son does not know how to crack eggs properly?!"

"Sorry?" I offer.

She looks at the bowl again. "Yeah, whatever. You're almost done, anyways." She leaves my side and starts rummaging through the cabinet. "Percy," she calls, her voice muffled, "where does your mother put her mixer?"

I rack my brain for an answer. "Dunno," I call back. "Try the one on—"

"Never mind, found it!" She appears a moment later, mixer in hand. "C'mon, let's do this."

* * *

My Cherokee friend pulls the tray from the oven, where two dozen chocolate chip cookies sit. "Mm, fresh cookies. Delicious and piping hot." Piper sets the tray down, and waits a minute. Then two. Impatiently, she mumbles, "Screw it," and puts one in her mouth. "Ow!" she yelps, snatching it out. "It's hot!"

"Piper, that is _gross_. And duh, it just came out of the oven. Of _course_ it's hot. Even I don't do that and you know I make incredibly dumb mistakes at times."

She snorts. "Yeah, like 'The Incident.'"

 _Ugh. Don't remind me._ As I voice my thoughts out loud, I remember the time, in fifth grade, when I'd gotten in trouble with one of my teachers. She'd advanced on me, perhaps to hand me my detention slip, when I'd panicked and, grabbing a nearby baton from our Christmas play, whacked her in the face with it. It was made from those toilet-paper rolls, so it didn't hurt much, but _still_. I'd _hit a teacher._ In the face. With a stick.

Probably one of the _best_ decisions I'd ever made in my twenty-two-year life.

(I got suspended for two weeks.)

"Percy," Piper says now. "Percy." She snaps my fingers in her face. "Hello. Hello. Earth to Percy."

I look up. "Huh?"

She huffed. "I was asking you a question."

I cock a head at her. "Oh, yeah? What is it?"

"Probably a bad idea to ask you this, but …" Her voice gentles. "Did this help?"

I look around, trying to avoid her question. "Yeah," I reply finally. "Yeah, it did. For now, at least. Not forever, of course."

She doesn't say anything, just smiles a sympathetic smile and gives me a one-armed hug.

* * *

I sit by her bed again, watching helplessly, as, for the second time this year, she fights for her life. Finally, after a while, I decide to speak. "Forever, Annabeth. We promised each other that we'd be together for forever. I never knew that you'd be the one to break that promise. I always thought it was going to be me—since I'm the one who gets the worst ideas and is too impulsive sometimes and all …" I trail off. "Why are you the one who might lose their life? Why, Annabeth? Why?!" Unable to hold it in any longer, I feel the tears drip down my face, and don't bother wiping it away. Screw anyone who thinks I'm not a man because I'm crying. My fiancée might die and I can't do anything about it to help her.

Gentle warm hands grab me from behind, pulling me around and drawing me into an embrace. I don't bother looking up to see whose hands they belong to. I've known them all my life, from when I fell down in the playground back home and skinned my knee, to when my favourite horse, Amphie, from the stable died from old age, to when I had been told by my first girlfriend that she was dumping me. Those arms, those achingly familiar arms, are, to me, home.

My mother has finally arrived.

* * *

 **The Slurpee story is real; it happened to my friend, Chandler Skywalker. You might remember him from my one-shot _For Percy_ , as I credited him for being my beta. He got his Slurpee and proceeded to dump it on some poor, unsuspecting little girl's head.**

 **I haven't written in quite a bit, so it might be a little bit rusty. I tried my best to write this chapter—I really did.**

 **Reviews:**

 **Guest: Here's the update :) Thanks!**

 **Angelthegenderconfusedcat: SQUEAK! :P Thanks!**

 **Liz (Guest): Thanks! Yeah, I know … it'll get better soon :) Hoped this was sorta entertaining :D**

 **Average Canadian: TO BE OR NOT TO BE? THAT IS THE QUESTION. :P Thanks!**

 **Toby4138: New reviewer! Don't know why, but when I saw your penname, I immediately thought of a cat :P Aw, yeah, I do too :( Thanks!**

 **AcerVentua672: New reviewer! Thank you! I love your interpretation. I never thought about it that way, and it sounds to fancy and poetic. Thanks!**

 **WhyNotWriteFanfiction: Thanks! Sorry for the confusion.**

 **Mr. Invincible: New reviewer! Thanks!**

 **Don't forget to favourite, follow, and/or review!**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-K**


	14. Thirteen

•Chapter 13•

 **Hi!**

 **Thanks for all the reviews/favourites/follows! (I have no excuses as to why this is so late. I'm sorry, guys. My penultimate year is of high school is … ugh.) Also, someone stole my phone :(**

 **So I'm really sad/mad (smad?) because I just learned that the other non-honours English class in my grade is writing a** ** _mystery story for homework_** **. WHAT. Ms. G., WHY CAN'T YOU LET US DO THE SAME THING?! :(**

 **Okay. Rant over. :P**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2010

* * *

I logged on to my Skype, my heart pounding. _Do you want to Skype at three o'clock, your time_? Annabeth had asked me earlier.

It took me three tries to get my password right—that's how nervous I was. Finally, after my third attempt, I got in.

After a moment, a window popped up.

 _Annabeth Chase is calling …_

I clicked "accept" and, after a moment, her smiling face popped up on my screen. "Hello!"

"Hi!" I said back.

"Woah, I _did_ not expect you to sound like that." Annabeth faked shock and laughed.

"I didn't either. I mean, I didn't expect me to sound like that; I obviously didn't mean me, I meant _you_ , seeing that I've been myself—Okay, that's just really weirdly worded—I mean … ugh. Never mind." I gave up, and threw my hands in the air in defeat.

She laughed again. "Percy, you're so funny."

For some reason, when she said my name, it made my heart jump and my stomach flutter. Trying to ignore it, I smirked and answered with, "I know, right?!"

She facepalmed, her smile never leaving her face. She had such a lovely smile.

"So how's life over in San Francisco right now?"

"Boring. Hot. Loud," she answered. "You?"

"Same. Except it's cooler."

She groaned. "Lucky! It's _so_ hot here! And my brothers are complaining—really, after living here for thirteen years, you'd think they'd have gotten used to it—so much I am tempted to lock them outside. Or in the fridge."

"Don't think your parents would appreciate it," I told her with a laugh.

"Oh, really? I totally didn't think that through," she answered sarcastically.

I laughed. I was feeling a bit awkward, of course, but wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be.

"Hey, you live in Manhattan, right?" asked Annabeth suddenly.

I nodded. "Why?"

"My dad's going to a conference there in a few months. He asked if I was interested in going, and I told him I was. If you can, maybe we can meet up and hang out or something, and you can show me all the good parts of the city. It's in October, I think." She paused. "I know this sounds really weird and sudden, but, you know, seeing as we've known each other for, like, seven months, I figured it wouldn't be as weird. We're not _really_ strangers … you know what I mean?"

I nodded again. "When did you say it was? October?" I swiveled around and looked at the calendar mounted on the wall. "I think I'll be free then."

Her face broke into a smile. "Sounds great."

* * *

"Really, Jason," Piper said, her voice muffled through the door. "You gotta do something with that cousin of yours. He's head over heels for his penpal, Annabeth—and he won't do anything about it. He says he doesn't like her that way!"

He laughed. "Hmm, interesting." There came a rustling sound. "It's pretty obvious."

"I know, right?!" exclaimed his girlfriend.

"You want to call the most oblivious of the group and see for their opinion?" I could almost see the grin on Jason's face.

A pause. "Who would that be?"

Promptly, he responded with, "Nico, probably."

"Let's call him!" Excited, she clapped her hands. "Oh, good, you got your phone out already."

One of them dialed Nico's number. His voice came on through the speaker after a while. "Hello? Jason?" He said that none too pleased, his voice slightly groggy.

"Hi, Nico," Piper greeted him. "Sorry for waking you up."

He made a sort of disgruntled noise. "Well, I'm awake now. Sort of. What is it?"

"It's about Percy." (That was Jason.)

"And his love life!" whispered Piper under her breath. "Well, sort of!"

Nico didn't seem to hear her. (Thank goodness.) "What about him?" he asked, his voice full of interest.

"Have, you, uh, noticed anything off about him lately? Like, oh, I don't know, happier? More distracted and daydream-y than usual?"

I made a face at those last words. I whispered, "Wow, thanks, Pipes. You're saying that I'm often daydreaming and distracted?" I thought about it, and added, "I mean, yeah, I _guess_ I do, but you didn't have to explicitly say that …"

"And he—"

"He always smiles at his phone now, too," Jason interjected. "His hand's forever flying to his pocket whenever his pocket vibrates. Like, it actually _flies_. He's never done that before."

"Yeah …" Nico said finally. "I sort of noticed. Think there's something wrong with him?"

Piper laughed. "Maybe, if you count being head-over-heels over a girl a problem. Bye!" She hung up.

I stopped listening in and scratched my neck, thinking. "C'mon, guys! I'm just really excited that I have someone _new_ to talk to," I whispered. "Sorry, but you're old news. Besides, I don't like her … not that way, at least. And she probably has a boyfriend already. I mean, she's so pretty."

 _No, she doesn't_. _You know that!_ my conscience—or something—countered.

 _What if she didn't tell me?_

Inner Percy snorted. _Yeah, so she was lying when she said she didn't have one a while back?_

 _Maybe?_

 _I think she'd tell you. Besides, she's on vacation right now, and she certainly_ isn't _the type to randomly have a four-week summer fling on the beach with some guy she met. C'mon, Percy, you know she's smarter than that._ I could almost hear the satisfaction in Inner Percy's … voice? Thoughts? … as he (I?) sensed my defeat. He (I?—this was _so_ confusing!) continued, saying, _You like her though. At least, admit_ that!

I threw my hands into the air. I gave up.

(Also, having internal thought battles were _really_ weird. Not to mention they looked _really_ stupid.)

* * *

A few weeks passed, and Annabeth returned from Hawaii. She and I were Skyping at least once a week, as long as our schedules permitted us to. Right now, I was Skyping her while I was eating a snack at four in the afternoon. The September breeze blew into my room, where I was talking to Annabeth.

"Have you seen the new _Harry Potter_ movie?" I asked. "It's really good."

She nodded. " _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part One_? Yeah, I've seen it. Not impressed, though. The books are _way_ better." She glanced somewhere to her right. "One sec," she told me, and disappeared. I heard the distorted sound of something sizzling in the background.

"You making food?"

The blonde-haired girl reappeared on my screen. "Yeah. Anyways, _Harry Potter_. You know, it's—" Suddenly, she broke off as she turned her head to the side, her eyes widening in horror. "Crookshanks, no!" she yelped. The images on my screen bounced around, blurring everything together, as Annabeth (I assumed) ran over to her calico. "Get away from my bacon!"

An indignant meow came, followed by the click of her cat's nails as she stalked off across the tiles of the kitchen floor. Annabeth's phone finally stopped moving around, as the view of her kitchen appeared, and, a second later, her face. "Sorry about that," she said, pushing her hair into a ponytail. "She tried to eat my bacon."

I smiled, amused. "You eat bacon for lunch?"

Annabeth huffed, annoyed. "As a matter of fact, yes, I do," she said, snapping the hair elastic into place loudly. "Bacon is perfectly acceptable to eat at any time of the day."

* * *

2015

* * *

My mother holds my hands as she speaks, just like she did when I was little. "I'm so sorry I couldn't come earlier. I was swamped at work and Paul couldn't leave until the last of the college night class he had been teaching had been completed. I do hope the nightly skype calls helped, though. I could be with you without actually being there."

Paul Blofis is my stepfather. He'd married my mother a few years ago (which made her Sally Blofis (that is _really_ weird to think about)), and taught high school up until last year, when he began teaching English to new immigrants.

"Please don't give up hope," she says now. "I know you're close, Percy. I can see it in your eyes."

I don't say anything.

"This has probably been said to you a million times over the span of a few months, Percy, and I'm going to say it again: Annabeth is a fighter. She. Will. Make. It."

"I know," I say hoarsely. "I know."

"But do you believe it?" she presses me. "Even if you say you believe those words, but you don't really, deep inside, you never will."

 _No, not really_. I don't reply out loud.

She sighs as she takes in my silence, assuming what I think: No.

"Sweetheart, let me tell you a little story. It's from a Chinese fable."

She takes a sip from her water bottle, then offers it to me. I decline.

"There was once this old man, who had a single horse. That horse was his best friend. He loved the horse as dearly as his own. One day, his horse ran away without warning. The old man was distraught. He thought his best friend was gone for good. The townsmen tried to console him. 'Don't worry,' said one. 'Perhaps some good will come out of this.' The old man thought he was crazy, but said nothing.

"Three weeks later, the horse returned, accompanied by half a dozen other horses. The old man couldn't believe it! His best friend had come back, along with six others! That one townsman was right. He and his family quickly adapted to having seven horses, and his only son had a particular fondness for riding one of them. One day, tragically, his son fell and broke his back while riding his horse. The old man cursed the horses his horse had brought, until the same townsman told him, 'Don't. Something good will come out of this.' Though still dubious, the old man listened to him.

"A few days later, war was descending on China. The king required every able-bodied man over the age of eighteen and under the age of sixty to go fight. His son couldn't, for his back was broken. Over ninety percent of the men enlisted to fight were killed. But the old man's only son was spared, for his back was broken. The townsman approached him. 'Don't you see?' asked the man. 'You saw the breaking of your child's back as a disaster, but it turned into a good thing: your son survived this war.'

"The old man never saw the wise townsman again. But his words stayed in his heart, and that's how he knew that every bad thing would turn into something good," my mother finishes. "Don't you see, Percy? It was a bad thing, turned into a good thing, turned into a bad thing, turned into good. Maybe you and Annabeth were close before, but you'll become closer after this. Do you understand, now?"

I nod a little.

She engulfs me in another hug. "Come on, Percy." She stands up. "Let's go home. You haven't eaten in a while, nor have you showered. You need sleep, too."

"But …"

She looks at me sternly. "Remember, you have to _believe_." With that, she leads me away from my fiancée's bedside.

I let her.

* * *

 _We sit in my living room, crossed-legged. Three years have passed since I wrote that first letter to her. Snow falls outside the window—not that much of a rarity in February in New York. "Well, now that my birthday's passed and I'm leaving tomorrow, I say we do something weird," says the girl sitting across from me, out of the blue._

 _I turn to her. "Like what?"_

 _"_ _Oh, I don't know." She shrugs. "We could do … Shot Never Have I Ever."_

 _I make a face. "Ugh, that was like the staple party game for my high school. Except with soda._ Please _no." I think for a while. "Chubby Bunny Challenge?"_

 _"_ _Oh, hell no!" She looks disgusted. "That's dangerous, and people have died from it. Besides, I don't think that's the proper way to enjoy a marshmallow."_

 _"_ _True, true," I muse, lying down. "_ That _, and because your cheeks already look like the Chubby Bunny."_

 _She grabs a nearby pillow and smacks me with it. "Shut up," she grumbled._

 _I smirk at her. "It's true and you know it."_

 _Rolling her eyes, she pointedly ignores my last statement. "How about we just watch a movie?_ Star Wars _?_ Hunger Games _? We could eat the marshmallows in your pantry while we watch."_

 _"_ _How do you know I have marshmallows in my pantry? Why were you raiding it—again?" I whine. Suddenly, what she said just dawns on me. My eyes widen. "Wait." I sit up. "_ Marshmallows _? Since when did I have—" I clap my hands over my cheeks, delighted. "RIGHT! I_ did _buy marshmallows!" Picking myself off the floor, I make a dash for the pantry._

 _"_ _I wasn't raiding it!" she calls after me. "I was getting a glass of juice and then I saw it!"_

 _I shoot back, "Sure you weren't!"_

 _I return with the box a minute later, and start wrestling with the plastic lid. My fingers keep slipping around the plastic cover, unable to keep a firm enough grasp to pry it open. She watches me for a while, until I throw my hands in the air in annoyance. "Percy, zero, marshmallow box, one," she says, laughing._

 _"_ _Hey!" I protest._

 _She holds her hand out. "Here, I'll do it." She gives me a fond smile._

 _She opens it successfully on the first try and reaches inside. Out of the box comes a wisp of smoke, growing darker as it climbs higher. It reaches for the girl sitting across from me, where she sits, oblivious to the danger in front of her. She plops the marshmallow into her mouth, just as the black matter touches her arm—_

"No!"

I shoot up in bed, gasping for air. This is what my dreams look like now—a fond memory I have of with Annabeth, turned into a nightmare, a shapeless … thing… with a large, gaping hole as a mouth, and tendrils of smoke as fingers, its long, elongated fingers creeping towards my fiancée, to claim her as its own.

Death.

Thanatos.

I reach out for the lamp on Annabeth's nightstand, fumbling with the switch once I locate it.

I know I won't return to sleep any time soon tonight.

* * *

 **By the way, the story about how Crookshanks tried to eat Annabeth's bacon? It happened to me before. I was talking to my friend over FaceTime while he was making bacon and his cat tried to eat it. I know _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part One_ was released in November, but I _really_ badly wanted to include a HP reference :P**

 **Yes, I named Annabeth's cat after Hermione Granger's cat. Their owners are both geniuses and totally awesome, so, hey, why not? :P**

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 **booknerd4eva: *grins* maaaaaaaybe ;) Thank you for your kind words. I appreciate it :)**

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 **-K**


	15. Fourteen

•Chapter 14•

 **Hello!**

 **It's December already … dang. Sorry for another late update! Here's a longer chapter, but please be warned: next chapter will definitely NOT be as long.**

 **Thank you so much for all the follows/favourites/reviews!**

 **I have set up a photography account on Instagram; if it isn't too much to ask, can you please follow me on there? My handle is j_t_photography (to clarify, it's "j" (underscore) "t" (underscore underscore)). In case you were wondering, the "j" and "t" are a part of my other name. Thanks guys! :)**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2010

* * *

 ** _Skype_** _:_ AnnabethChase92 _is online_

P_J_818: _You busy rn?_

AnnabethChase92: _Not really. Why?_

P_J_818: _Idk. Just wanna talk. It's raining really hard right now and Tysons sick with a fever so I can't leave the apartment because I have to take care of him and my moms out for work and I cant be loud or do anything that might wake him up because hes sleeping obviously so I'm getting real antsy right now_

AnnabethChase92: _Lol I believe that's the longest paragraph you've written, Jackson. THIS IS A MIRACLE!_

P_J_818: _-_- Shut upppppp. Why you so meeaaan :(_

AnnabethChase92: _I'm not being mean. What are you talking about?_

P_J_818: _Okay. Sure youre not._

AnnabethChase92: _I'm not._

P_J_818: _Whatever._

AnnabethChase92: _So what's up?_

P_J_818: _The sky!_

P_J_818: _WOO I MADE A NERD JOKE!_

AnnabethChase92: _That is hardly a nerd joke, and that's an insult to proud nerds everywhere, including yours truly_

P_J_818: _Lol_

AnnabethChase92: _It's true though._

P_J_818: _Meh. I guess_

AnnabethChase92: _Besides, apparently, I read somewhere that some U.S. passed a law allowing its citizens or anyone currently in said state to legally punch someone for answering "The sky" when asked "What's up?" So, according to its law, I am allowed to punch you. Lucky for you, I am unable to do so through the blocking of the screen dividing you and me (and everything else, from the cars to the trees to the waters), which also enables us to communicate. Thank your mother for moving you_

AnnabethChase92: _Besides, "My blood pressure … because of you," would be a much adequate answer if you asked me that. :P_

P_J_818: _Wow, I thought you couldn't get any nerdier. Boy, WAS I WRONG!_

P_J_818: _Also, I've already thanked my mother for moving me here. We had this exchange student from Oregon last year and we drove her crazy with our "Noo Yawk" accent lol. We made it_ so _thick and it was SO funny to see her reaction. Too bad she left the following year :(_

AnnabethChase92: _Gee, I wonder why …_

AnnabethChase92: _Actually, I hav_ _e to go now. I just remembered that I'm going to the mall with Hazel and Gwen today_

P_J_818: _For once, the genius forgets something_

AnnabethChase92: _-_- Yes, I did. Bye :-)_

P_J_818: _Bye :)_

 ** _Skype_** _:_ AnnabethChase92 _has left_

I turned around and got off my computer. Feeling bored, I picked up my checklist from off the floor and began flipping through it. I didn't use it much, but I was bored. "I'm done all my chores, right?" I started crossing items when I had completed them, like how Annabeth did it with her planner. "Ugh, I'm turning into Annabeth," I muttered as I realized what I was doing and stopped.

I spun in my chair again and messaged Annabeth one last thing.

P_J_818: _Oh no I'm turning into you. I started crossing off stuff in my list O . o SOMEONE CALL THE PSYCHAIATRIST!_

I was told, later, that when she read my message, she'd laughed so hard her step-mother was able to hear her two rooms away and thought she'd gone insane.

* * *

"Jason, if you weren't dating Piper, and you liked this girl, would you ask her out? Or, at least, tell her you liked her?"

He thought it over, which took probably less than two seconds. "Yeah, I would." He shrugged. "Why not, right?"

I looked at him. "Even if you're not sure that she likes you back? Or that she lives, like, in Europe or something?"

" _Europe_?!" he repeated. "How do you know some girl from _Europe_?!"

"It was just an example," I told him, rolling my eyes. I flapped my hands impatiently at him, indicating for him to ignore that part and continue. "But yeah, for all intents and purposes, Europe."

"'For all intents and purposes'? Dude, you're turning into your penpal." He jokingly took a nearby pencil and pretended that it was a thermometer. He stuck the eraser end on my neck. "Dear, are you alright?" asked Jason, faking a concerned motherly tone, and perched his glasses onto the end of his nose. "Really, Dear." He looked over the tops of his glasses at me. "You don't have to be shy."

I rolled my eyes again. "I know, yeah, whatever. Just answer the question."

"Yeah, I guess," he said slowly in his normal voice, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.

"Think I should do it?"

"Yeah." He smirked at me. "I know who you're talking about. It's _obvious_."

"What if she thinks that's creepy, or she doesn't like me the same way? What if our friendship is ruined because of one stupid question?" The answers come flooding out of me. "Like, she's an awesome person, and I love talking to her. Besides, it—I mean, you know, my … you know … it will pass, right?"

"Woah, dude, calm down," he told me. "Well, it's worth a try, right?"

"Yeah." I exhaled. "You're right."

He gave me a cocky grin. "'Course I am. I'm a genius. How do you think I got valedictorian?"

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever." Standing up, I told him I had to go, explaining my mother and Paul were going for a two-week trip to visit Paul's family in Colorado, and that I was driving them to the airport.

He waved me goodbye as I pulled out of his and his sister's driveway.

My best friend's words stayed with me as I went home and picked up my parents, as I drove to the airport, and after that, too. _Should I do it?_ I wondered the entire time. _Is it worth the risk? I don't want our friendship to end just because I like her._

His text came later that night. _It's Annabeth you were talking about, amirite?_

* * *

A few days later, I sat down at my computer a bit after breakfast, heart beating fast and hard. I knew she wouldn't be up, seeing as it was only four thirty, San Francisco time. I looked at the clock mounted on my wall. I would only have half an hour to write—and send—this, before I had to leave to drive Tyson to school and get to work at the horse clinic on time.

I cracked several knuckles before starting out of nervousness. This was so alike to my penpal project, yet so different.

 _Dear Annabeth,_

 _Did you know your name means "favour" and "grace"? You probably do. It's your name, after all._

 _I know that sometimes you don't like your name. You think it sounds too feminine, too gentle, too … unlike you. To you, you think your name—both the sound and the meaning—describes everything you are_ not _._

 _Well, let me tell you that I think it sounds beautiful. Every time I say your name, the soft sounds roll around in my mouth, like sweet honey. (Or something.) It's a glorious sound, something that cannot be described._

 _It's unique. It can be two names, but it became one. It could've been "Annabelle" or "Elizabeth," but your father chose parts of two different names and formed a unique name. A special name for a special girl._

 _I think it fits you. Your name, I mean._

 _You graced this world with your presence. You did this world a favour and giving it your intelligence and wit. The world received a gift when you showed your brains._

 _I've been trying to ignore it, for days. Weeks, even. But I can't any longer, and I must let the truth come forth._

 _The thing is, Annabeth, I'm crazy for you. I know we've never met in person, face to face, and we've only Skyped a handful of times, but that's enough. We were penpals before._

 _In the months that I've known you, you've stirred up something inside of me—something I've never felt before. It's like not knowing how coffee tastes until you've tried it, and you wonder how you've lived before, without tasting this delicious drink. (I know you're not a huge coffee drinker, but I like coffee, and that's the only thing I can think of right now, okay? I mean, I literally have a cup of coffee right beside my computer right now.)_

 _In case you have no idea what I'm talking about, I'll say it simply:_

 _You've captured my heart, in a way no other girl has. If there was a void I knew not about before, I know now, and it can only be filled by one Annabeth Chase._

 _People usually say age doesn't matter, but I'll change it a little: Distance doesn't matter, because, ever time I converse with you, I feel as if I am closer to you than ever possible. You don't need to reply to this email, if you do not wish to. I just wanted to let you know, because if another day goes by without me telling you of my feelings, I just might burst._

 _Forever yours,_

 _Percy Jackson_

I read it over. It seemed okay … I guess.

If I thought my heart was freaking out earlier, it was nothing compared to what it was now. My heart was pounding in my chest, pounding so hard I was surprised it didn't pop out of my chest. I swore my neighbours next door could hear it. I swore the entire city of Manhattan could feel my heartbeat pounding under their feet.

 _It's now or never_ , I thought.

Before I could lose my nerve, I clicked SEND.

* * *

2015

* * *

The eight of us sit in a circle in Hazel's living room. "Okay, first order of business," Hazel says briskly, "before half of us leave of New York tomorrow.

"One. I think we should have a little going away party. I mean, when again will all of us be able to be in the same place together?"

Seven heads nod in agreement. "Only sucks that it was Annabeth who brought us together and she isn't even here," I mutter under my breath. "Seems a bit ironic, isn't it?"

Leo hears me and shoots me a look—an expression I'm surprised to see on my friend's normally cheerful (if not sarcastic) face. "What?" I whisper.

He shakes his head. _Later_ , he mouths.

I shrug, and tune back into the conversation. "Three. I think we should spruce up Annabeth's room right now. It looks awfully … drab."

"Yeah, so like flowers, cards … and what else?" asks Piper thoughtfully.

"I could paint something," Rachel volunteers. "Something like the San Francisco skyline."

"You _have to stop_ thinking about it like that," Leo hisses suddenly beside me. "Really, Perce. If you think a bullet will stop your fiancée, you're dead wrong!"

"Excuse me?"

"Annabeth."

"I know _that_ ," I say, irritated.

He looks at me, incredulous. "But do you really think that? Or are you saying it as a mantra, to keep you sane? Do you really think Annabeth will give up a fight that easily? She's going to be okay, Perce! You can't stay in one place forever!"

I look at him and throw my hands up, frustrated. "Everyone keeps telling me that! Do you think I'm not trying?"

"Truthfully?" Leo answers. "Not really."

" _What_?" I shout. "I am!"

"No. You're not."

"I'm trying to ignore it, Leo," I say wearily. "I really am trying."

"Ignoring it won't help. You just have to accept it, know that it happened, and try to move on from that spot. Maybe you won't go far, but anything would be better than staying put in one place."

I mutter, "Like you would know." I instantly regret my words. Leo's mom …

Leo stares at me, his face stony. "My mother died when I was eight." His voice is cold, unrelenting. "I was left with only my father, who wasn't that great of a father, but tried his hardest and did all he could to be a good father. _Do you think that I don't know how it feels_?! The guilt that I carry around, knowing that I could've saved her from that fire? I'm not the only one carrying that burden. Bianca was killed. Nico lost his only sister. He could've saved her if he went with her to her death. Let her know she was loved. Frank's mother was killed in action. Hazel's mother was killed by a caving cave, and Hazel herself lost her own life for a minute.

"All of us know what you're going through, and we've been through worse. You can't say that we haven't lost anyone, so we don't know how you feel. We all have lost someone we loved, we know how you feel. What we're telling you … we've been told the same thing."

I let out a breath. He's right. Then why do I still feel like I'm simmering like a volcano, ready to erupt at any moment? I close my eyes, hoping my heart will stop running its race, and go back to a walking pace.

"The biggest difference of all is that … with Annabeth, she might wake up," continues Leo. "You have a chance of seeing her again. But we who have …" He stops and then starts over. "For those who have lost someone … my mom, Bianca, Mrs. Zhang, Mrs. Levesque … we're never going to see them in this life again."

My heartbeat rises again. "I don't want her to die."

"I know you don't," he answers calmly. "None of us do. But if she does, all of us will just have to accept it. Besides, as long as there is love and memory, Percy, there really is no true loss*. Your memory of Annabeth will live on, even if she doesn't."

I snap.

"If she dies, I want to die too, rather than go on living without her!" I yell, breathing hard. "I know all of you have gone through this—and worse! It doesn't make it any better! I feel like you're just trying to help me ignore what's going on and live my life. Do you not see how stupid this is? How are you acting like nothing's wrong? Did you never care about her at all?! Honestly, it's like I never knew any of you at all! Leo, you're acting like you care, but where were you these last few months, huh? You were in Calgary at a convention!" I spit that last word out. "A _convention_. Doing what? Tinkering about with mechanics and other stupid stuff no one has a use for! Honestly, Leo, you're so selfish, I don't even know what I saw in you! When I saw you eating alone at lunch in the cafeteria that day, I should've just left you there, instead of saying anything!"

All the background voices stop simultaneously. Leo backtracks, seeing the expression on my face. I feel the blood drain out of my face as my words dawn on me. "Leo, I'm so sorry, I didn't—"

"You did."

It was Jason who said that.

"You did," he says again, rising to his feet. "You're the type of person who will withhold all their anger and sorrow until you"—he makes a _poof_ gesture with his hands—"lose hold of your control. You can't control what you say when you snap, Percy. It just comes out."

Nico speaks up for the first time since we got here. "We get it, Perce. You're missing her a lot. We all are. Don't you think we don't? Granted, it's probably worse for you, but we're all in this together." He gets up as well, going to stand beside Jason. "You just have to cope, heal, and …" He sighs. "I hate to say this, because it sounds horrible and none of us want to think about it that way, but … in the worst-case scenario that Annabeth doesn't make it for some reason, you must learn to move on without her, whether you want to or not."

I look at everyone, their faces a mix of sympathy, annoyance, and sadness. "I—I'm sorry guys. I just need a minute. Just … continue on without me. I'll be back." Without waiting for a reply, I run out the front door, down the stairs, and into the street.

It isn't until I get to the street when I realize my face is wet.

* * *

*This quote was from Jem Carstairs, in _City of Heavenly Fire_ by Cassandra Clare.

* * *

 **Ugh so sad :( … I might've gotten really, really, sad when I wrote that last part …**

 **It's my goal to finish this story but December 31st, so I'll try my best to produce chapters quicker but with just as good quality. Senior high is CRAZY!**

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 **Don't forget to follow, favourite, or review!**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **-K**


	16. Fifteen

•Chapter 15•

 **Hi, hi, hi. Thank you for your patience. I** ** _was_** **going to upload a week ago, just as I promised, but … I realized my files had been deleted. You see, last week, I switched from using my laptop for my documents to a Samsung tablet. I wasn't exactly familiar with how it worked, but I poked around and figured it out.**

 **Well, I thought I did, anyways -_- When I transferred all my documents** ** _back_** **to my laptop, I realized half of the stuff I wrote in the past day had been deleted! I had to re-do chunks of this story :(**

 **Aaaand after my four days of performing in a musical (I was the lead :D), I got sick. Thank goodness it was** ** _after_** **the performance, and not before!**

 **I'm still sick, though, so yeah. High fever and all that jazz. :(**

 **Thanks for all the follows/favourites/reviews!**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2010

* * *

As quickly as I could after a dinner of (blue) spaghetti and meatballs, I logged into my email again for what seemed like the millionth time that day, searching my inbox for that one particular email that seemed to never come.

I scrolled through all my unread emails. "Come on, come on, come _on_ ," I muttered to myself, biting my lip.

Still no reply.

* * *

"You really do like her, don't you?" Jason asked me one day at his house where we were doing a project.

I swallowed. "Yeah."

* * *

"Can you _please_ stop with that tapping?" begged Piper, who was seated across from me at Taki's Restaurant, a popular fusion place. "It's driving me crazy."

I apologized, curling fingers into a fist.

I waited a bit, then checked my phone again.

Nothing.

* * *

Jason sat by me again in my bedroom, watching as I logged onto my email.

Nothing.

I slumped back into my seat, defeated. I was _so sure_ that Annabeth would reply to my email. It was just unlike her to not reply to something. I rolled off my chair and landed on my bed. Running a hand through my hair, I murmured, "Why?" I lifted my eyes to the ceiling and asked myself the same question again: "Why?"

He heard me, although my question wasn't directed at him. "Why what? Are you asking her why she isn't responding or why you sent that to her in the first place?"

I sighed, closing my eyes. "Both." I inhaled, and opened my eyes again. "I'm seriously starting to regret telling her. I didn't know that she'd have that big of a reaction."

"It's been done, Perce. There's no going back. You just … have to live with the consequences, I guess."

I groaned. "Well, I did it. I screwed up. Friendship over. I'm never going to talk to her again. She probably doesn't want to. I don't know how to face her ever again."

"Don't say that, Percy. Maybe—"

 _Ding!_ A new email had come in. Not bothering to let Jason finish, I leapt off my bed and checked my inbox.

I drew in a sharp intake of air. It was from Annabeth Chase.

Jason saw my reaction and guessed that her reply had come in. Taking his cue to leave me to some privacy, he left my room and shut the door behind him. I paid him no heed. My eyes were glued to what my screen was displaying.

 **From: Annabeth Chase**

 **Subject: Re: A Confession**

Heart beating painfully in my throat, I opened the email, not daring to breathe.

In the response were four simple words:

 _I like you too_.

* * *

2015

* * *

Probably eating dinner with some people you had an argument with is one of the most awkward dinners ever, I have been told. I believed them, but didn't know how bad it was until I got to experience that first-hand myself.

They weren't kidding.

It all started when Hazel paid me a visit early Friday evening. "Hi Perce," she said in her soft voice, leaning against the doorway. "Feeling better?"

She obviously meant after the fallout with Leo and Jason, but didn't explicitly mention their names. I was grateful for that.

I shrugged. "Maybe."

Smiling a little, she pulled on my arm. "C'mon. Some of us are having dinner at some Greek place. Don't remember what it's called, but according to Frank, it's really good." Pausing a little, she added, "Jason and Leo are coming too, but hopefully it won't be too awkward."

* * *

It was.

The first thing Jason and Leo did the minute I walked into there was shoot dirty looks at me. Selecting a seat opposite of them, I sat down between Rachel and Frank. Piper had left to visit her father in Colorado and Nico had gone back to his home country, Italy, for a vacation. There were only six of us left, and tomorrow, Jason and Frank would be leaving us for Manhattan and Vancouver, respectively.

The tension in the air was palpable, and was only lessened slightly when the waitress approached our table. "Hello," she said pleasantly. "Have you decided what you'll have tonight?"

We ordered, and when the blue-and-green haired waitress left, the tension was back to full force. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore—I broke the silence. "Guys, I'm sorry. You know that. I didn't mean it."

"We know you didn't, but it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."

"Yeah, Percy," agreed Leo. "We understand, and we forgive you, but it doesn't mean we're automatically friends again."

"Percy," Jason said, "we get it. You were upset and anxious, and you blew up. But that is still no excuse. You forgot who we lost and focussed only on yourself, not caring about how we would feel."

I sighed, lowering my head on the table. "I really did screw up, didn't I?"

Rachel's voice floated to my ears. "Yeah, you did, but don't worry—it'll pass. All bad things do."

A few silent moments later, the waitress approached our table again, her arms laden with plates of food. "Avocado quinoa salad, deviled eggs and Caesar salad, macaroni and cheese, and a club sandwich. The ribs and nachos will come shortly," she told us as she walked away.

Frank was studying his plate intently—deviled eggs with a Caesar salad—when he suddenly spoke up. "Hey, so an egg walked into a bar—CRACK!" He forced out a laugh. "Funny, huh?"

Leo let out a weak chuckle. "Yeah, hilarious."

We ate in silence after that.

* * *

The Chases get another call from the hospital not too long after my falling-out with Leo and the others. I haven't talked to them since the awkward dinner, and strangely enough, it doesn't bother me.

"Hello and good afternoon," says the receptionist. "Is a Mr. or Mrs. Frederick Chase here?"

Mrs. Chase, who'd answered the phone, replies, saying she is Mrs. Chase. "Just a second, please," she adds as an afterthought, as she waves Mr. Chase, the twins, and me over and presses the speakerphone.

The receptionist's calm voice floods through the room. "Doctor Fletcher would like to meet with you and your husband at San Francisco General Hospital tomorrow at twenty o'clock, or 8 o' clock at night. He has some new updates about your daughter."

Mr. Chase looks almost delighted, if it weren't the cautious look in his eyes and tone. "What is it about?"

"I'm sorry, but I wasn't informed." I can almost hear the sympathy in her voice. "I'm sorry," she says again. "I understand how worried you are over your daughter, but I have no information.

"You will find out at twenty o'clock tomorrow. Have a good day."

Mrs. Chase swallows. "You too." She hangs up and turns around to look at us.

"Well," Mr. Chase says quietly, sounding hopeful, "let's hope it is some good news, alright?"

* * *

The car ride to the hospital is silent. My fists are clenched in my lap, joints coiled about to spring, and Mrs. Chase is gripping the steering wheel with all her might, as if she'd fly off if she eased her grasp. The twins have their headphones in, but I know they're anxious to hear the news, too. Bobby's biting his lip and Matthew is tying and untying his shoelace on his right sneaker. Mr. Chase is resting on the seat beside his wife, eyes closed and head on the headrest, but his fists, like his wife's, are gripping the armrest so tight it's become white.

Finally, Mrs. Chase breaks the silence, letting out of one hand to reach over and cradle her husband's hand. "Frederick, she'll be alright." She smiles a little, albeit a sad one. "Don't you worry."

"You're worried too," points out her husband.

She agrees. "That is true. I may not be her biological mother, Frederick, but I am the one who raised her. I know Annabeth will be alright. I may not be the one who gave birth to her, but I, too, have a mother's intuition, and I know she will be alright."

Mr. Chase sighs. "I do hope you're right."

* * *

We pull up to the San Francisco General Hospital parking lot a while later. "Time to find out if my daughter's dead or alive or in limbo," mutters Annabeth's father under his breath as he exits the car.

Only I hear him, it seems. My fiancée's stepmother locks the car, and in sombre procession, we file into the waiting room.

Mr. Chase walks up to the receptionist. "Hello, this is Mr. Chase. We got a call yesterday saying that Doctor Fletcher had some news to tell us. The patient in question is Miss Annabeth Chase."

The receptionist nods, handing us a clipboard. "Please print your name and signature." Looking at the four of us standing behind the sandy-blond haired man, he adds, "And have your party do the same."

Mr. and Mrs. Chase do it first, followed by the twins, then me.

"Thank you." He returns the clipboard to a slot underneath the counter. "Please wait patiently in the lobby and I'll call up Doctor Fletcher."

* * *

We don't have to wait long. Not less than ten minutes later, he walks out, a smile on his face. "Sorry for the wait. I was delivering two babies—twins." Looking around at us, he adds, his smile turning neutral, "And I assume you're here to hear the news on Miss Chase?"

We all nod.

Doctor Fletcher looks around. "How about I tell you her diagnosis somewhere more private?" he suggests. "Let's go into her room."

We head down the clean hallway, and turn right into another one, then another right. Finally, we stop at room 132—Annabeth's room. We file in one by one, Annabeth's parents first, then me, and the twins enter last. The doctor lets the door shut completely before speaking.

"It's a miracle, really," Doctor Fletcher says. "The probability that she will wake up—it's gone higher. So high, in fact, that I can almost guarantee that she will wake up."

Mrs. Chase's eyes immediately well up with tears. "She's going to wake up. Percy"—she turns around and faces me—"she's going to wake up." She claps a hand over her mouth. "My baby girl is going to wake up."

I don't answer. My body frozen but my mind active, I realize one seems to come back and stand out amongst the dozens of frantic thoughts running through my head: _My fiancée is going to live._

* * *

 **Well … yay :) Finally, a happy ending! :P This story will have about one or two chapters left.**

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	17. Sixteen

•Chapter 16•

 ** _So_** **sorry guys for last updating in 2016! I got a new semester change and everything was really hectic, and I'm going on a two-week school trip to China really soon so I'm frantically packing, planning, and making sure I have everything in order. (Plus, the teacher who's leading this trip is the most disorganized teacher ever, so we're really on our own.)**

 **I am hoping I can upload another chapter before I leave, but no guarantees.**

 **Again, so sorry for the wait!**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2012

* * *

I gripped the handle of the umbrella tighter, my knuckles turning white. Glancing at the watch on my wrist, I saw that I, for once in my life, was early. Looking around at the crowds in Times Square, I silently wondered whether or not I'd ever find her. I mean, there were hundreds of people here, and it was rush hour, which made it even worse.

"Oh, hello. There you are," a woman's voice said behind me. Or, at least, I think it was a woman. It was sort of hard to hear, with hundreds of voices chattering around me. "I've been looking for you."

I whirled around, hoping to see Annabeth behind me. Instead, it was a redheaded woman in her mid-twenties, talking to a female of around the same age. I turned back, disappointed.

I looked around again. Swarms and swarms or people approached the area I was standing in, and soon left afterwards. Time and time again, I thought I had caught a glimpse of the curly blonde hair I had seen so many times, in photographs and both on my phone and computer screen.

I looked at my watch again. Only ten minutes had passed. The face now displaying _8:55_ as the time, I watched as the second hand made its way back to the 12; each tick, to me, was getting slower by the second. My fingers tapped on the handle impatiently.

Sudden movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. What I saw next brought a smile to my face. In front of me stood a young woman, her back to me. She let out an audible grumble as the wind ruffled her long, blonde curls. She held her phone in her right hand. The young woman was clad in a pair of light blue jeans and a black hoodie. Just as Annabeth said.

I stepped closer to her. As I uttered her name, I reached out with a gentle hand and tapped her on the shoulder twice.

She turned around.

* * *

2013

* * *

Flashes of memories.

A gentle kiss there on her cheek, her body snuggling against mine. Tears falling onto my shirt after she found out her beloved grandmother had passed. My arms around her, comforting her. Laughter, as we watched our favourite TV show together. Yells of mock anger, as we pelted each other with water balloons. A rush of anger, as we fought. Quiet voices, as we said "I'm sorry" to each other. Our profession of love to each other. Silence, as she fell asleep beside me. Warmth, as we huddled under a blanket and watched _Star Wars_ together. Our voices, singing off-key to songs on the radio, amidst shouts of laughter. Our fingers, linked together. Tears, as our time together came to an end and her slim fingers left mine as she entered security at the airport.

She had already stayed behind for another four months after her father had returned to San Francisco. She would've stayed longer if she could, but she really needed to return home. Why, she didn't say.

Missing her every day after that. Missing the hole in my heart I had found, but had not known before meeting Annabeth Chase.

I knew she was going to be the last woman I'd ever date, if she agreed.

* * *

(Half a year later, she did.)

* * *

2014

* * *

I'd gotten the idea of my proposal from _How I Met Your Mother_ , Annabeth's favourite TV show.

Annabeth loving that show was surprising. She never really seemed like the type to love romantic comedy sitcoms, especially one about finding your ideal soulmate. But she loved that show, and that became one of my many things I loved about her—she was so unpredictable. Once I thought I had her partially figured out, another surprising thing came out, which led to a whole new mystery. Annabeth, it seemed, was a never-ending mystery.

We were so different, but we worked well together. She was full of spunk and spitfire, while I was the calm one. Her passion for architecture, that ever-growing flame of love for that particular field was intoxicating, almost. The way her eyes sparkled when she explained something architecture-y that I never quite understood, the way she completely lit up like a Christmas tree when she found someone who shared the same passion for her, the way she dreamed becoming an architect … "But after I fight overseas," she'd always tell me. "I want to protect those children from danger. They don't deserve to live in fear like that. No one does. My dream of being an architect can wait, Perce. I have years ahead to do that. But there's so much danger over there right now … that can't wait."

She didn't let fear and failure dictate her life. She was scared of failure, but she was determined not to let that win. So what if she was scared of being rejected by Harvard? She'd try to apply, anyway. What if her brothers would get injured, playing rugby? She'd drive them to the field, anyway. She always said that life was no fun if you don't try everything. "What if, in an alternate universe, I make it into Harvard? I'll never know, in this world, because I was too scared of being rejected. That could open a whole lot of doors for me, doors I'll never be able to go through, because I closed all those doors before I had the chance to open them."

She was so wise, my Wise Girl. That's why I called her that, I suppose. Pretty much everything that came out of her mouth sounded so … inspirational, and wise.

* * *

"Where are you taking me?" my girlfriend asked, laughing.

Grinning, I answered her, "Not telling you. It's a surprise."

"I suppose you aren't going to take me to the middle of the woods to kill me and bury me?"

"Oh, no, you've got me." I faked a disappointed sigh. "Well, guess I've been found out. Better do it here, before you scream."

I had a feeling she was rolling her eyes, despite the fact I couldn't see it because I'd covered her eyes with a sleeping mask. "I'm so scared, I want to cry. Please don't kill me!" she said in a sarcastic tone.

"Maybe I won't. Depends on if you impress me enough to change my mind." I drove into the parking lot, searching for an empty space in the sea of black, white, blue, and silver cars. "You're lucky I haven't found the perfect killing spot yet," I told her. "'Cause when I do, you'd better kiss this world good-bye."

"You haven't found it yet because it's your first time in San Fran. You haven't gone out and looked at anything."

I snorted as I turned the wheel. "I've looked at the stuff around your house! I've seen some of San Fran already, on the drive to your place!"

My girlfriend sighed. "Yeah, but that's not everything here. You haven't, you know, gone out and actually been _in_ the city."

"Don't pick on me. During your first time in New York, you got lost, remember?" I shot her a look. "I don't even know _how_ you can get lost. All the streets are blocks. Literal blocks. They're shaped like rectangles!"

"That was on my first day! And I was _six_!" she protested. "You've been here for a few days already, Percy!"

(I really didn't have a good response to that.)

After a while, I found a parking spot that wasn't too far from the front door. Pulling into the space and parking the car, I told her, "Okay, here we are. Stay and don't move a muscle."

She paused, her mouth slightly parted. "Soooo …" she drawled out. "I can't move my heart? That's a muscle too, and an involuntary one at that."

I rolled my eyes. "You know what I mean." I got out of the car, and walked over to Annabeth's side. Helping her out, I told her not to remove her mask yet. "We're almost there," I promised.

I led her inside the restaurant. Earlier, I had already made an arrangement with the head waiter to give us two glasses of sparkling white wine, with a little bit of a modification in Annabeth's.

"Um, h-hi," I told the person at the front desk?, hoping Annabeth didn't notice my stutter. Annabeth had ears like a bat and was as observant as … whatever was the most observant animal around, so knowing her, she probably did. "I made reservations for two under Percy Jackson."

She traced her finger down the list. "Percy Jackson?" she asked, an Irish lilt to her voice. "Right this way." She picked up two menus and gestured for us to follow her.

Placing my hands on Annabeth's shoulders, I steered her in the direction that we were going in. The waitress stopped at a secluded table near the side of the restaurant, against one of the brick walls. "Here you go." I directed my girlfriend to sit in one of the seats, and sat in the one opposite to her. The waitress handed us the menus. "The waiter you have requested will be here shortly, Mr. Jackson. The both of you, enjoy."

"Okay, now you can take it off," I whispered, excited.

She lifted off her sleeping mask and looked around, her eyes widening. "Is this—?"

I grinned. "Yep."

She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Oh my gods! This place … its reservations need to be placed six months in advance!"

"I know. But I have connections here."

"Wow." She looked around, stunned. "Thanks, Perce," she said, smiling at me.

At that moment, a guy with spiky blond hair approached our table. "Hello! I'm your waiter today. Have you decided on what you want yet?"

"Nope, not yet," I told him. "We've barely sat down. Give us a minute. Or five," I added in a stage whisper. "I'm kind of indecisive, remember?"

He laughed quietly. "I totally remember. Well, I'll be around in ten."

Annabeth's curious grey eyes were watching me as he left. I could see her putting the pieces together. "You know him!" she exclaimed quietly. "You two were really close too, I'll reckon. Maybe met in high school? Or swim meet?"

"Actually, no. He was my middle school best friend, until he moved away."

"What's his name?" She titled her head to the side, her intelligent grey eyes never leaving mine.

"Magnus," I answered. "Magnus Chase."

"Huh." Annabeth looked thoughtful. "Huh," she said again. "I have a cousin named Magnus Chase. His mother and my father are siblings. He was born in somewhere in Boston, moved to New York when he was nine, but my dad lost trace of Magnus and Aunt Natalie once they moved out of New York and left no forwarding address. They moved around a lot. Had to do with his father's job somehow."

"Wouldn't it be weird if it was the same guy?"

She gasped. "What if it was? That'd be _so_ weird! Okay, Magnus is coming this way. Quick, decide on something."

"Annabeth," I whined. "You know I suck at making snap decisions."

Sighing in exasperation, she waved her hand impatiently. "Just do your best."

Magnus came over and took our orders (well, actually, I just ordered the first thing I saw on the menu). After we were done, just as he was about to leave, Annabeth piped up. "Actually, Magnus, I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"I have a cousin named Magnus. Magnus Chase. Our parents used have us have playdates together, but we hated each other. I don't know why, but I think it had something to do with me complaining your Lego building was ugly. Every time."

He laughed a little. "Oh, man, I cried for half an hour every time after you left. I was _proud_ of every building I built." Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Wait, what? Annabeth?"

"Magnus?" she responded in question.

"Are you the daughter of Uncle Frederick?"

"And you the son of Aunt Natalie?"

They gasped at the same time. "Oh my gods, this is _so cool_!" Magnus exclaimed. "We _really_ should catch up later. I have to go take care of my other tables now, though. Percy, can you give my number to Annabeth? Thanks, man." Then to Annabeth, "Long time no see, Cuz. Enjoy, you two!"

"Woah," Annabeth breathed after he left. "This is ... this is astounding! I met my cousin just now!"

"I know, right?"

At that moment, the head waiter approached our table, a glass in each hand. He greeted us with a smile, then set them down. I could only hope that he remembered to place the correct one in front of the correct person. "Sauvignon blanc, sir and madam."

"Thank you."

"Ooh. Never tried this kind before." Annabeth smiled as she picked the glass up, her hand frozen halfway to her mouth. "There's something at the—" she started to say. Then she gasped. "Oh, it's a—oh," she breathed. " _Percy_." She carefully reached into the glass and plucked the ring out, wiping it dry with the napkin on her right. "Um," she said hesitantly, not sure what to do.

But I did.

Reaching over, I picked up the ring from her palm, walked over to her right, and bent down on one knee. "Annabeth Chase." I heard her gasp as I grasped her left hand in mine, my right holding the ring between my thumb and index finger. "I was going to say a whole lot of cheesy stuff, but I think I'll just stick to one. I've told you once, and I'll tell you again: If there was a void I knew not about before, I know now, and it can only be filled by one Annabeth Chase. You're the light in my darkness, and every moment spent with you feels like an eternity, and if I may have the honour to spend the rest of my life together with you, that will become an insurmountable number of eternities, and that is what I want. Whatever comes, hell or high water, I don't care, because as long as you're by my side, my love, everything will be alright. You're my anchor, my love, and the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. So, will you marry me?"

I thought I heard an almost-audible gasp coming from Annabeth, but I wasn't sure. She looked calm. She stood there, watching me, her hands clasped, not moving, not saying anything.

She thought for a moment. My heart was pounding. I was so sure she was going to say yes. But what if she said no? My heart dropped at the thought. If she said no ...

"Hm," she said, arching an eyebrow as she stared off into space. She rubbed her hand on her chin. "Well, everyone knows that that girl from the café near your apartment has a _massive_ crush on you. Maybe you can ask her instead?" She shook her head. "Nah. Better not let that happen. You're too amazing for her. She's ... kinda ... well, how do I put this nicely? Not your type, I guess."

I swallowed. "Well?" I whispered.

She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. "Of course, you idiot. Of course I'll marry you." She stood up, and her face broke into a blinding smile.

I breathed an internal sigh of relief and stood up. "Thank the gods," I muttered under my breath. "I was so scared she'd say no."

Annabeth, having the ears of a bats', turned to me. "What, thought I'd say no? Who else would put up with this disaster that is Perseus Jackson?" My now-fiancée (How strange—it sounded so foreign in my mind, yet so comforting at the same time!) whispered into my ear, "You know, Percy, that was more than one cheesy thing you said, and you got the 'hell or high water' phrase wrong."

"It doesn't bother you, you know that. Besides, since we're going to get married, you'll have to get used to a _lot_ of cheesy stuff coming out of my mouth."

"I know." She pulled back from our embrace. "I already have."

Our food got cold as we briefly kissed again and hugged for what felt like forever, but it didn't matter: She was finally mine.

 _I'll never, ever, let you go, Annabeth Chase._

* * *

2015

* * *

I sit by her bed again, her hand enclosed in mine. "Remember the time I proposed, Annabeth?" I ask softly. "You were so surprised, you almost dropped the Sauvignon blanc. It you did, that would've been … a disaster. Poor thing would've let out a little whine of pain. Pun totally intended, of course.

"You know, Annabeth, I really wasn't sure how I'd like to talk to you. You know, when we first were paired up for that penpal project. I even complained to my friends about it. And you knew that I wasn't too keen on that." I stop and think back on those first months of begrudging letter-writing. "And when we talking about those two 'star-crossed' lovers who fell in love a few months after they started writing to each other? Who could've guessed that it would be you and me who ended up like them? Granted, it took us longer, but … same ending, right? Or maybe they broke up after we graduated. I don't know."

 _Beep_. _Beep. Beep._

"I'm glad we took that step. I'm glad I risked ruining our friendship and told you how I felt. Our lives would be so, so different if I never took that leap. Between the days I sent you that email and your response, I was a nervous wreck. I think Piper got so annoyed at one point, she threatened to tie me up and lock me in a room." I smile at the memory. "I'm pretty sure I deserved it, though.

"I'm pretty sure I was so annoying and so tense, if I could, I'd go back in time and tie _myself_ up. That'd be cool, you know. Travel back in time. Maybe you could make the machine and I'll be the first person on it. Funny thing, Annabeth," I add after a while. "Talking to you isn't so hard anymore. It's like I've gotten used to it."

I pause, a sudden jolt of realization shocking me. It no longer is awkward and halting, complete with difficult silences, when talking to Annabeth. I no longer long to hear her response. I don't need that anymore. I am getting used to her being gone, getting used to her silent, getting used to her … a breathing corpse. I have adjusted to the fact that she is in a coma, and I'm … even comfortable in it.

I shoot up from my chair, my heart pounding. No. No. I can't do that. I can't let myself be okay with my fiancée in a coma. I can't, I can't, I can't.

I bolt from the room. I slide to the floor and take a long, shuddering, breath in the hallway, forcing myself to calm down. _Breathe_ , I tell myself. _Breathe_. Leaving the hospital, I head to my car, and, my hands shaking, unlock the door. I drive away, not looking back, not even once.

* * *

I don't come back for days.

 _I'm sorry, Annabeth_.

* * *

 **ANNABETH FINALLY MAKES AN APPEARANCE IN THE FLESH! WOO HOO! Also, special thanks to my friend Chandler Skywalker for reading the proposal scene and assuring me it wasn't too sappy and cliché.**

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 **\- K**


	18. Seventeen

•Chapter 17•

 **I've returned, guys! Yay! :) Sorry it took so long. I feel so bad for not updating, so I figured I'd do it ASAP, so here I am, uploading this in class :P**

 **Man, my school trip was awesome. All but two students got sick … (I'm one of the two :P)**

 **Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favourites!**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

2015

* * *

"You're being ridiculous."

Hazel stands in the doorway, arms crossed, her normally sweet expression replaced by one of displeasure.

I groan. "You again?"

"Yes, it's me again!" she exclaims. "C'mon, Perce. You're being an idiot and you know it. Think about it." She crosses the hall and sits down in front of me. "Go visit your fiancée."

"I—I don't—"

She sighs. "Perce, it doesn't matter whether or not you've gotten used to her being in a coma. It _doesn't_. What matters is that you're still taking the time to visit her, to talk to her. To just … _see_ her." She pauses a little and stands up, looking me right in the eye. "You're lucky Annabeth is still here," she says quietly. "I'd give anything to see my mother one last time, even if she was in a coma.

"Sometimes, I can't remember what she looks like exactly until I look at her picture on the wall, and that scares me," she admits, her voice tinged with sadness. "I _don't_ want to forget her. She wasn't the best mother, but she still was my mom. She loved me and did the best she could. She wanted me to have a happy life. Forgetting everything she did isn't an option, but I don't want to forget other things, either. I don't want to forget the exact shade of brown her eyes are, the way she smelled, the way her smile was like a blanket of comfort to me." She smiles a little wistfully. "I loved the sound of her voice. She had one of those rare ones who were soothing, but they didn't put you to sleep. And when she sang … those are one of my favourite memories of her.

Hazel decides that's enough about her mother and switches back to her original topic: Annabeth. "Whether or not Annabeth responds doesn't matter. Some doctors think people in comas can still hear, but they're just trapped in their own body. And, if she really could hear you, she would like to talk to her, right? It's natural for you to be used to something after it occurs for so long. There's nothing bad in the fact that you're used to talking to silence. When you were used to it, you weren't hurting as much, right?"

My friend takes my silence to go on. "I've gotten used to my mother being dead for four years. I've gotten used to it. True, I miss her a lot, but it just makes my memories with her even more precious."

"How can you be so strong?" I murmur.

She smiles a sad, sympathetic smile at me. "When a parent passes, Percy, you grow years older in a couple of weeks. You mature a lot more, because you learn some life lessons you can never do over. You grow up because you never knew how lucky you were to have what you had, but once you've lost it, you realize how important it was to you. Life wasn't easy after my mom died, but my neighbour talked to me about it. Her words really helped, you know. And now, I'm passing that message to you."

"Thank you, Hazel," I say gratefully. "I don't know how much that helped, but … thank you."

"You're lucky Annabeth is still here," adds Hazel. "You still have more memories to make with her. You get a second chance with her; something I'll never be able to have. Don't waste it." She turns me towards the door and gently pushes me to it. "Go talk to your fiancée."

* * *

The road splits into two forks: one going straight and the other going right. A blue sign reading SAN FRANCISCO GENERAL HOSPITAL hangs overhead one fork, and the other is labelled DOWNTOWN. In a split-second decision, I veer right and go off the highway. Downtown San Francisco is packed with horns honking, cars zooming by, and sirens wailing. It reminds me much of Manhattan, and a brief feeling of longing to go home flashes across me.

I know I can go home any time, but I refuse to. Not until Annabeth wakes up.

Hazel's words ring over and over in my head. _You're lucky Annabeth is still here. You still have more memories to make with her. You get a second chance with her; something I'll never be able to have. Don't waste it._

On the way to my designated coffee shop, I remember that I've run out of paper, so I drop by the dollar store to purchase a lined notebook, and because purple is Annabeth's favourite colour, a purple funky pen. Normally, I'll feel embarrassed, knowing that I, a young man of twenty-three, am buying a funky purple pen. But Annabeth loves collecting funky purple pens, and I'd know that she'll love this one—it is a special edition pen, and in the shape of an owl. Annabeth loves owls.

The café is not too far from the dollar store, so I leave my car where it is and enter the quiet, cozy atmosphere. Sitting down at a table, I order a coffee and begin to think. There were so many things I want to write, but I feel that it doesn't have a place in this letter.

"Man, I forgot how hard writing letters are," I mumble to myself as I start writing. "How do I start? Formal? Informal? Texting-style? Oh my gods"—I bang my head on the table—"this is difficult. Even more difficult than I remember."

 _Breathe, Percy, breathe. Calm down. You're not getting marked on this. It's just a letter to your fiancée._

"Thanks, oh Wise Inner Percy," I mutter sarcastically. "That totally helped." Risking a glance around, I notice that no one's noticed the crazy lunatic (me) talking to himself in a corner of the café.

 _Dear Annabeth—_

 _It's been years since I last wrote a letter to you. It's been years, and I hate it just as much. I could've easily typed this out on the computer, but Mrs. Leer was right, all those years ago: There_ is _something intimate, some more genuine, about letter-writing. And I have to be completely honest with you here—100% honest._

 _You've been in a coma for five months, but truthfully, it feels like a lifetime. When I think back about our time before we left the States, those times feel so fuzzy, so clogged. Has it really been that long ago?_

 _Hazel said something to me today, something that made me stop and re-evaluate my life. It made me realize so many things. I'm so lucky, still, to be able to see you and talk to you. Many people can't do that anymore, and they probably envy the fact that I can. I've been so caught up in other things, like the possibility that you will never wake up, or that you will and you won't remember anything. I forgot to look at the good things too, and … ever since Hazel mentioned it to me this morning, I've been feeling more and more guilty._

 _I still may be afraid, but so what? Fear isn't going to help you out of your coma. Nothing will. I just have to believe that you're strong enough to do this on your own._

 _Actually, I take that back. I don't just_ believe _that you're strong enough to do that, I_ know _._

 _You may not be able to see me, but I can see you. And I can see it even when you're not responding to us, that_ you can do this _. You can do this, because you're the Annabeth I fell in love with, the spunky, nerdy, sarcastic Annabeth that I met all those years ago._

 _The guys are right, though. I've made a fool of myself when I should've believed that you will be able to do this._

 _But what if you don't wake up? What will I do then? Will I become the blubbering mess I was before? Or will it be something different this time? I honestly don't know, but I_ do _know one thing: It will make my memories with you even more precious, because that will be all I have._

 _I don't want to lose you, but there is this small chance that I will. And if I do, I never, never,_ ever _, want to forget your face. I haven't been visiting you lately, and I'm sorry. But now, I have learned the price of loss, and if I ever miss another day without seeing your face, I will never forgive myself._

 _You're strong enough to get out of this coma. I_ know _you are. And one day, I'll see those gray eyes of yours that I've missed so much._

 _—_ _Percy_

* * *

"So, I wrote you a letter today," I say as I walk into her room. "I still hate writing them, don't worry." I laugh a little as I pull up a chair beside her bed. "I just felt that it was more appropriate to write you rather than tell you, you know? And I don't know if I'll ever show you, really. I think it was more of a 'I'm finally going to pull myself together' letter that I wrote, even if I addressed it to you."

 _Beep_.

 _Beep._

 _Beep._

"These past few months, I've really gone crazy, Annabeth. I've hurt everyone around me, and I'm so ashamed of that. I hurt everyone around me, but they still stuck by me. Why?"

 _Because that's what friends do,_ duh, Annabeth would say _._

"I know that it's cause they're my friends, and that's what they do, but _why_? They could've just stopped being friends with me."

 _Friends don't do that. Not real friends anyway. They stick by you, through thick and thin. Cheesy? Yeah, but sometimes the cheesiest things hold some truth in them_.

"I'm sorry for running off like that last time I came," I tell her. "I shouldn't have done that, and I promise you"—I reach out and grab her right hand and enclose it in mine—"that will never, ever happen again. I will visit you every single day, without fail, until the day you wake up." I smile a little as I rub her hands in mine. Her hands have always been cold. "And I swear that in blood. So, you'll see me tomorrow, the day after that, and the—" I stop suddenly. Something has changed. Something. _Something_.

Then I realize what it is.

It's her hand.

It's no longer limp. It's firm, and her fingers are slowly moving, gently touching my skin. I fixate my eyes on them, half-believing I am starting to hallucinate. Could it be …?

She shifts a little, but her eyes stay close. _Come on, come on_. _Please wake up._

I don't dare make a sound. I hold my breath, not even wanting to breathe.

Her eyes flutter open once, then close again.

With more difficulty this time, she opens them again, revealing those grey irises I have been missing for so long. She holds my gaze, and I hold hers, not wanting to blink. Some irrational part tells me if I do, she'll be in a coma like she was yesterday, and the day before that. It says that I'm dreaming, a dream I've always longed to see happen. I know it's not real, I know that the irrational part of me is lying, but I'm afraid to acknowledge that it's real. I can't lose her again. Not when she's finally awaken and I've finally gotten her back.

She swallows once, then twice, and wets her lips.

"Percy?"

* * *

 **YAY I'M PRETTY SURE YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR THIS CHAPTER! :) IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEEE :)))**

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 **Toby4138: Here you go! The reason I dragged his moping around for so long is cause I really wanted one character to make him snap out of it and it would contrast him better lol. Also, I didn't want to make this a "Percy is so macho" thing … I wanted to show a different side of him lol. Like a more vulnerable side, one only few can see. So yeah … Thanks!**

 **ShootingStarMuffin: I TOTALLY GET YOU AHAHAHA I DON'T DO CALM EITHER. Awwwww thanks! I had my friend read it over cause he's the biggest sap on the planet and he totally loved it so I was like, "Yup, this is post-worthy." XD**

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 **-K**


	19. Epilogue

•Epilogue•

 **Hi guys!**

 **LAST CHAPTER GUYS AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH**

 **Sorry it took so long. I realized, that in order to this to work, I had to update the Prologue. So yeah, I updated _that_ exactly a week after Chapter Seventeen. You don't have to read the newer version (there's not much changed) but I would recommend it :)**

 **Happy reading!**

* * *

There is a lot of catching up on that Percy and Annabeth have to do, not just with each other, but with life. After being in a coma for almost seven months, her limbs need to regain their strength.

He stays by her side through every milestone she goes through again: sitting up, standing up, and walking. It's a long and hard process, but Percy is proud of her. He brings her her favourite food or drinks every single time, because he knows she loves them. (And they also offer pretty good encouragement: "After this session, you get a bar of white chocolate! Hurry up, or else I'm going to eat them!" "Shut up Percy!")

For Percy, he doesn't admit it, but it takes some time getting used to having Annabeth counter everything he says. After months of having one-sided conversations with her, it's strange to hear a voice— _her_ voice—respond. But he eventually falls into the pattern he had, because it's _Annabeth_ , and Annabeth loves to tease Percy about everything.

And when the day comes that Annabeth can finally leave the hospital for good, she lets out a loud whoop and sprints to the car, yelling "Good riddance!" to the white hospital behind her, because she's never liked them. Percy yells at her, telling her to be nice "and add a thank-you to them," but it's evident that he's as glad as she is.

* * *

 _"I have something important I need to tell you."_

 _"Yeah?" he asked as he opened a bag of Doritos. "What is it?"_

 _"Percy." She took a step towards him, her tone gentle. "I'm going to apply to the US Army."_

 _His eyes flew to her face, the grip on his bag tightening, crumbling the chips inside. "What? You're—you're kidding, right?"_

 _"No," she said, shaking her head. "You heard me correctly."_

 _"But, Annabeth—," he started. Changing his mind, he asked a single simple question: "Why?"_

 _"I want to protect people. There's a war brewing overseas, and I don't want to just sit here and wring my hands and be helpless. I want to help them. Perce, I've seen the footage on TV, and it breaks my heart every time. Those children, those families … they don't deserve to be caught in this war, but they are." She shook her head, her eyes filled with anger. "I may not be able to save them all, nor will I be able to stop this war, but I want to do what I am able to."_

 _Her face softened as she took in the frozen look of terror on her fiancée's face. She sighed. "Oh, Percy." She gently took his face in her hands. "Don't you worry about me. I'll be fine."_

 _"I don't want to lose you," he whispered._

 _"I know you don't. And you_ won't _. Trust me."_

 _Seeing as he still didn't look convinced, she gave him a suggestion. "If it's going to make you feel better, how about you come with me?"_

 _She could see him considering that option._

 _"We could protect the innocent, together."_

 _"I—I don't—" He hesitated. "I'm not the type to go fight," he finally said._

 _A pair of warm hands grabbed his. "I know, Percy," Annabeth answered earnestly. "But you like to help people, don't you?"_

Percy remembers everything. How he went along overseas with Annabeth. How he was so terrified at first, because no preparation and training could prepare for the horrors of reality. And that was the reality that the local people lived with, day and after day.

He remembers how his nightmares tormented him, night after night, when he was overseas, his mind running through the horrors that happened that day. Even when he came back to the United States, they were still there. He wished, so hard, over and over again, for him to finally have _one_ night of peace, one night of a happy dream.

And one day, he did. And it was like a breath of fresh air, a light in an eternal time of darkness. It was so blinding, but so, so beautiful. He held on to that dream, the one happy one in his sea of horror, and believed, _believed_ , that one day, it'll get better.

The nightmares depicting every horror he had seen overseas are becoming less and less frequent now.

* * *

 _"So, what do you want to do when you're older?" Annabeth asked Percy, her eyes boring through the screen. It was a rainy, gross day in Manhattan, and he was locked up inside. He was so, so bored. He hated the rain. Hated how gross it was. Hated how it got him all wet. That was the reason why he hated swimming, he supposed. It was gross and wet and wet t-shirts were uncomfortable. They stuck to his skin like glue._

 _The rain drummed on the windows rhythmically, creating some sort of bass line for a electro-pop song—not that he was a fan of pop. Or electric music. He preferred The Jackson Five and the oldies—especially when they came from his dad's record player. The Jackson Five were really cool—and not just because they shared the same last name as him._

 _"I don't know," the green-eyed boy answered honestly. "You?"_

 _The answer was immediate and clear. "An architect."_

She holds the envelope in her hand now, weighing it on her palm. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she stands still for a moment, before bursting out with, "I don't know if I can open it. I'm … Percy, what if I don't make it?"

He kisses her forehead, saying, "I'm sure you did. Open it, Annabeth."

Taking another deep breath, she slides her finger under the flap of the envelope and pulls out the folded sheet of paper.

* * *

The blonde-haired girl sits at the front of the lecture hall, right in front of the professor's lectern. Her steely grey eyes observe the classroom, and guesses what type of teacher this is. He—or she?—has a few corny jokes about architecture on the walls, a picture of the tallest skyscraper in the world on another, and some other deep quotes.

A woman with purple-tipped hair in her mid-thirties walks in. "Good morning, class. I'm Professor Dodds." She strides over to the whiteboard situated at the front of the hall and writers, in big letters, PROFFESSOR DODDS. The misspelling of "Professor" is a joke from _How I Met Your Mother_ , and Annabeth can tell that it was meant to be one—the second "f" was written slightly bigger than the others. Her smile is caught by Professor Dodds, and she winks a mischievous wink at her student.

Annabeth decides she likes her immediately.

* * *

They sit in a coffee shop, talking, because they're _that_ couple that always goes and talks in coffee shops. This is the "new best coffee shop in New York City," according to Percy. Annabeth has to admit that although she hasn't tried her drink yet, the place is very warm and aesthetic.

"Annabeth? I need to tell you something."

"Yeah?" she asks, taking a sip out of her white hot chocolate. "With extra whipped creamed and chocolate sprinkles," she had specified when she was ordering. She _loves_ whipped cream, and Percy has never understood why. It tastes weird and it's pretty artificial. But she loves it, so whenever he orders a hot drink, he requests whipped cream so he can add his scoop of whipped cream onto hers.

He takes a deep breath now. "Remember how you've always said that you don't think you'll be a great mother?"

She nods, her gaze resting intently on he fiancé. "What about it?"

"I haven't been the best with children …" he starts. "You know that. I'm always awkward around them, or I say the wrong thing, or I accidentally curse in front of them"—Annabeth immediately breaks into laughter at that. Percy can almost bet that she's thinking of the time he accidentally stepped on a Lego block on his toe and dropped the f-bomb in front of his neighbour's three-year-old niece—"and— _stop laughing, Annabeth—_ I-I'm just not good with them."

"Okay …" Annabeth responds, unsure of where he is going with this, her laughter finally subdued.

"But you taught me how to interact with them. You taught me to be less awkward around them. I'm not as good of a natural as you are, of course, but you taught me a lot, Annabeth. You really did.

"When I was waiting for your dad to pick me up from the airport, I met a little girl named Julia. She thought I was her cousin Triton and ran up to hug me." He paused. "Okay, here's a question: What do you think I did?"

She thinks about it, chin resting on her head. "Well …" she starts slowly, "I think you'd be all awkward and like, 'Uh-why-are-you-hugging-me-get-off-oh-my-gawds' or something?" She laughs. "Just kidding. Maybe. Um, I think you told her she had the wrong person?"

"Sort of, but not really." He recounts the story of what he did, down to the very last detail. "I even knelt down to her level," Percy adds proudly. "Just as you told me once. It helps with eye contact, and it makes as if what they say actually matter to you."

Annabeth frowns. "I'm not sure I'm following you with this."

"You will," he says earnestly. "I promise." He takes a gulp of his now-lukewarm coffee. "Okay, so and then she began to talk to me, and instead of being awkward, I just went right in and talked to her."

"That's good."

"Annabeth, you taught me how to interact with kids. You taught me how to connect with them, to just … have fun with them. Annabeth, you taught me all that … how can you say you're not good with kids?"

She frowns again. "Percy, I said that I don't think I'll be a good mother, not that I'm horrible with kids. I'm _good_ with them and I know it. I just don't think the same applies to me raising a human being."

"Isn't it the same thing, though?"

"Percy, it isn't," she says with a sigh. "Playing with kids, having connections with them … that's different than raising them, teaching them. It's _so_ different, and that's the reason why I don't think I'll be a good mother. I'm so spontaneous, I always want to do the right thing, even if it's dangerous … Percy, being a mother means I have to be constant. And I don't like being constant."

"An architect is a pretty constant job. You just design buildings."

"That may be true, but I _don't_ —"

"Maybe you'll change your mind. I know you don't want kids, but Annabeth, you're only twenty-four. You have a whole life ahead of you, and so much love to give … maybe you'll want kids later, when it's too late. And you'll regret it then. I'm not saying you will, but maybe you—"

"PERCY!"

She's visibly frustrated now. "Look," she says, fighting to keep her tone down, "I know how much you want kids. I _do_. But I'm not going to be a good mother, because, well, look what my own mother did to me." She looks down and fidgets with her napkin, shredding it to pieces. "She abandoned Dad and me when I was a year old. I'm lucky enough that my dad remarried and all so I still got a mother figure, but the point is, my own mother abandoned me because she didn't feel like she was a good enough mother. And I'm my mother's daughter, so go figure."

"Annabeth, you're not your mother." He reaches for her hand across the table, but with a shake of his fiancée's head, she moves it away.

"How can you know that? You didn't know my mother."

"I don't," Percy replies calmly. "But I know _you_ , and from what I've heard, you are not like your mother. I believe that you are not."

" _Believe_?!" she repeats, incredulous. "Percy, you can't _believe_ something—especially not something like this. What if I take your word, and we have a child? And what if, turns out, I'm _exactly_ like my mother? Our lives—and the kid's—will be changed forever because of this belief. I don't want that." She abruptly stands up. "Percy, I'm out of this conversation. I'm not a good mother, and I never will be."

"Annabeth, wait—"

The bell above the front door rings once, then twice.

Their hot chocolate and coffee are left on the table, cold and forgotten.

* * *

He comes home that night and finds her sitting on the couch.

"About what I said earlier … Annabeth, will you think about it?"

"Maybe," comes the short response.

The rest of that night is filled with silence.

* * *

When Annabeth comes home the next day, she's carrying a medium-sized box with holes on the sides. Seeing Percy in front of her, she gently sets the box down and strides over to her black-haired fiancée. "Percy."

"Hey," he says gently, wrapping his arms around her, "I'm sorry I tried to convince you. I know you firmly believe that you aren't, and I should've respected that. I shouldn't have tried to change your mind. Maybe tell you that you are not, but not force you to agree with me."

Annabeth buries her face in his shoulder. "I know," she answers, her voice muffled. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have overreacted."

"It's not your fault. I know your mother leaving is a sore subject for you. I shouldn't have brought up that entire thing."

"It's okay."

He tightens his hold on her in response.

After a moment of silence, Annabeth speaks again. "Percy?"

"Yeah?"

"I know we'll never have kids, and that's something you really want, but …" She relinquishes her hold on him and walks over to the box. Picking it up, she continues. "Would you settle for"—she pulls the lid off—"a puppy?"

A brown-and-white head pops out, its pink tongue lolling. Her fiancé laughs, picking up the wriggling animal. "Aw, so you _did_ change your mind after all. We have a kid. Boy or girl?"

"Boy. Jack Russell Terrier."

"Wow. You gave him a full name already?! Without my consent?! And also, why isn't my last name on there?" Percy jokes. "This better not be official. If I'm gonna have a son, he'd better have 'Jackson' as a last name … _not_ some dog-sounding one. Even if he is one."

Annabeth rolls her eyes in response. "You idiot," she says fondly, punching him in the shoulder. She wraps him in a fierce hug again, the puppy between them. They stay like that for a while, Percy holding the puppy in one hand, his other around his fiancée, with both of them watching the brown-and-white fluff that has just entered their lives. It may not be the family Percy has always dreamed of, but this … this dream, he knows he'll love it just as much.

* * *

A few months after Annabeth woke up from her five-month coma, they decide it is time to do the thing they'd been planning to do before tragedy struck.

On a clear, quiet Tuesday morning in October, a single, white, crisp envelope is slipped through the mail slot of Jason and Piper Grace's two-storey house in New York City.

 _Dear Mr. and Mrs. Jason Grace,  
You are hereby invited to the marriage and union of  
Perseus Jackson & Annabeth Chase  
In __Marble Collegiate Church, New York City  
On June 12, 2016  
At 1:00pm  
R.V.S.P_

* * *

 **Omg guys I have finally finished this story! What a ride it has been, haha :P I know I really suck at updating, and nineteen chapters _should not_ take a year and a quarter to finish ... ooops?**

 **This epilogue was really hard to write; I had so much I wanted to include, but I didn't want to make this too long. I still have stuff I wanted to put in, but it didn't seem write.**

 **Reviews:**

 **PoppyOhare: Here's the last chapter! Glad you liked it! :)**

 **Toby4138: Woah, calm down XD Huh, I always thought you were a girl. Oops, my bad :/ Lol. I really did want to add that (Annabeth yelling at him for being so dumb) but I felt that two fights in a single chapter was too much. I might write a post-epilogue scene though, because it really doesn't make sense that Annabeth didn't smack some logic into him.**

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 **\- Kiren**


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